A Case of Deduction
by ENTWolf
Summary: Sherlock and Molly join together on the brutal case of a serial murderer eight years after Sherlock returns from the dead, but with the killer circling ever closer, Molly might be next in line and Sherlock can't afford to lose her.
1. Chapter 1

_**Sherlock and Molly join together on the brutal case of a serial murderer eight years after Sherlock returns from the dead, but with the killer circling ever closer, Molly might be next in line and Sherlock can't afford to lose her.**_

**This is written by myself and AveP. It's about eight and a half years after Sherlock has returned from the dead and has been roped into babysitting for John and Mary. Thomas is currently trying to unsuccessfully teach Sherlock about the solar system.**

**Sorry if the characters are a bit OOC but tell me what you think.**

"First it's Mercury, then Venus…"

"Who chose these names? They're ridiculous!"

"They are named after the ancient gods."

"That is pointless. You should learn about the types of cigarette ash and cut up cadavers at school instead, not learn about redundant gods that don't exist."

"That's silly uncle Sherlock, the solar system is far better and mythology is really interesting."

"Tell me that when you grow up."

"Uncle Sherlock… We need to do the project now. At least tell me you know where Earth is!"

"Yes, it is beneath my feet and that is all I need to know"

"You're useless Uncle Sherlock, dad lets me use his computer, but it has a password."

"Well I can fix that, pass the laptop over here"

The small boy handed Sherlock the laptop who promptly hacked it within five seconds before handing it back.

"Here"

"But how…"

"I simply deduced your father's password, it wasn't difficult, and he hasn't changed it since last time."

"Wow, uncle Sherlock! Will you teach me how to do that, too?"

"Hmm… You are an idiot. However, don't worry, everybody is. I guess… you are bright enough. Something from your mother."

"Yay, thank you." proclaimed the young boy perching himself on Sherlock's lap much to the older man's discomfort.

"It is merely a matter of observing your surroundings, taking in to account all the small details and connecting the dots between them. Like so…"

"… See that pen over there? Look at it and tell me what you see. However, don't only see, but also observe."

The little boy took the pen from the table and begun his observation.

"It's a blue pen and it's almost empty. So someone has been using it… It's not a cheap one. Maybe a present from someone?"

"Very good, but see how it was also on the left hand side of the notebook, indicating whoever was using it last is left handed, and the end has lots of little scratches so whoever uses it must chew it or at least suck the end, probably suck as the scratch marks are small. Also the wooden inlay is well worn but not too battered suggesting the pen is well used but also cared for so it is probably from someone close to the owner-"

"Wow that's amazing, show me again"

"Ok but you try first, after all it's you who wants to learn how to do it."

"What should I do?"

"Let's go over to the window and try a person, people are more difficult so do not panic if your lower intelligence can't get it."

The two moved over to the window seat and peered out through the voile curtains at the street below.

"Can I pick someone?" asked the attentive child eagerly.

"Go ahead."

Thomas pointed his finger on a lovely looking brunette woman, who came out of a cab. She was wearing ordinary blue jeans and a brown jacket. Her hair was combed back into a ponytail.

"Well… She's a woman…"

"Obviously."

"And she is coming in here…"

As he spoke there was a delicate tap on the door on the floor below and he rushed down the stairs to let the woman in while Sherlock followed at a more leisurely pace.

When Thomas opened the door, the woman looked surprised.

"Oh… Hello?! I'm sorry… Is Sherlock here?" she asked in confusion.

Sherlock stepped out and greeted her.

"Molly."

"Hello Sherlock, John told me you were here to babysit Thomas while he and Mary are up in Scotland. Are you staying for the weekend before going back to London? I know John would love to spend some more time with you, he hates the fact you hardly ever see each other anymore."

"I would love to spend more time with John and Mary but Lestrade will need me by Sunday so I will take the train back down to London tomorrow. Maybe you'll join me for a day, if you can take the time off."

"Sure, it would be my pleasure."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" The disappointment reflected deeply in Thomas's eyes.

"Well, yes. Work needs to be done and crimes need to be solved. What would they do without me? They would be useless."

"Can I come with you?"

"Yes I do not see why not, As long as your parents agree to let you come."

"Sherlock! You can't take a five year old to a crime scene."

"Why not? I worked on my first case when I was eight"

"Yeah, and I'm five and three quarters, that is almost six," interjected the little one.

"Yes and look how you turned out. Besides, do you really think John will let you? Also are we going to spend the whole day standing on the doorstep or are you going to let me in?"

"That sounds like a very good idea."

Sherlock and Thomas led Molly inside the house. They went into the living room, where the project was lying forgotten on the floor. Molly settled herself comfortably in one of the armchairs while Sherlock went into the kitchen to make tea and left the two of them alone, trusting Molly to stop Thomas from getting into trouble.

"So what were you doing before I got here?" Molly asked, smiling fondly at Thomas from where he was lying on the floor and colouring in the planets.

"Uncle Sherlock was teaching me the art of deduction…"

"Oh really? He must think very highly of you to teach you that. What were you deducing?"

"Well first we deduced that pen and then we were just about to deduce you when you knocked on the door."

"Oh that's the pen I gave your parents last Christmas. So tell me what, did you deduce about me?"

The small child hesitated, "well I didn't get very far," he stuttered shyly hiding behind his fringe.

"Well how about you tell me how far you got?"

"Yes give it a go," encouraged Sherlock re-entering the room with a tray of mugs, which he carefully set on the coffee table.

"Okay, I'll try. Hmm… I think you are a right-handed person when I look at your watch as it is on your left hand. You haven't really walked today, because the roads are dirty and I don't see any traces of dirt on your jeans. So you probably didn't walk from the train station. Also the fact that we saw you come out of a cab supports this theory. The train station is close, but you chose the cab… I don't think you have a problem with walking, but you just wanted to look as good as possible for your visit. Your bag is a medium sized. You didn't think of staying long, one night maximum. Oh and your nails are quite short so you probably have a practical job."

Molly laughed in delight, "he's almost as good as you Sherlock." (This earned a huff from the detective and a big grin from the child.) "He clearly inherited Mary's brains although from the amount of sports stuff around John's love of sports."

"He isn't better than me, for instance I could tell you that five days ago you visited your family, met your brother and his wife, babysat their child and got into an argument with your mother. Also your computer broke down and you took it to be repaired yesterday. Your neighbour is a married man, but is having an affair with the woman downstairs. You went out on a drink with a guy last night, but it didn't work out, because you are wearing lipstick today."

"I've seen you do that a million times and still forget how good you every time, there's no need to tell me how you did it, I know I won't be able to keep up," Molly laughed shaking her head at the child's look of open astonishment. Sherlock settled in a chair smiling smugly at having replaced himself comfortably at the top of the good detectives list, ahead of the child.

"Wow," breathed the child, his eyes gleaming, "will I ever be able to do that?"

"If you learn, then you can become quite good, but never as good as me, because I started much younger. In addition, I have had a lot of practise. I do it for my job, although I don't consider it as one. Your abilities to deduce, however, even now are a little higher than nothing, so I believe that if you are observant, you can indeed one day have what it takes to be a better than average detective."

Upon hearing this Thomas leapt out of his chair and fist pumped the air with glee.

"Do you hear that," he said turning to Molly, "Uncle Sherlock says that one day I can be as could as good as him, if I practice. I'm going to practice every day until I can beat him."

Sherlock opened his mouth to point out to Thomas that he had not said that he could be as good as him but was silenced by a pointed glare and subtle kick in the shin from Molly.

"Of course, you can. Look at Sherlock! He's jealous already. One day you will be even better than him. I'm quite sure," said Molly to the happy little boy.

Sherlock simply looked away, knowing that there is a slim chance of that being the actual truth. The child had only done his first deductions today and already was he impressive. It made him feel old, that there was another generation following in his footstep, inspired by the great Sherlock Holmes and his achievements, and that a few of these children would supersede him until he was left behind. Sherlock mentally shook himself and returned to the world of the living from his mind palace, displeased by his errant emotions. Since returning from the dead he had found them far more annoying than ever before. Molly however, was a person that made Sherlock feel comfortable. John was his best friend, but he always expected something more from Sherlock while on the other hand Molly had known him longer and she was okay with Sherlock as he was, with or without his problems. He was glad that she had come today. He still owed her a favour, in exchange of her invaluable help with the fall but she never bought it up, like she had forgotten it. Maybe she had, but now she was here with him and Thomas with no higher purpose other than to spend time with them, drinking tea and having a light conversation with John and Mary's child. How nice can a person be, even when she does not ever get anything in return.

Sherlock continued to ponder, wondering how he could repay her for all her invaluable help and unspoken support. Slowly and idea came to fruition as Molly and Thomas chatted frivolously to one another, or more precisely the boy talked about becoming a detective to rival Sherlock while Molly listened on with amusement.

"Get dressed. We're going out," he suddenly said, rising quickly from the sofa, where he had been sitting.

Molly and Thomas looked at him quizzically. "Where are we going?" The small child asked leaping up and starting to dance around the room in excitement.

"It's a surprise. Now go and put some decent clothes on."

The boy ran into his room and returned in a few minutes, fully dressed.

Sherlock left a quickly scrawled note on the coffee table for John and Mary in case they came back early as they had done on a couple of occasions before and led the unlikely trio from the flat and towards the train station, waiting impatiently for the young child who had to run to keep up with his long strides.

When they reached the train station, collars turned up against the chill, Sherlock went to buy tickets to their mystery destination while Thomas dragged the ever patient Molly off to start deducing people left right and centre.

When Sherlock returned, the two had already found two lawyers, a teacher, a sailor and a woman who they thought was a dancer. Sherlock needed only one look to be sure that it wasn't dancing the woman was doing on the street corners at night.

He decided that it wasn't the best idea to start correcting their mistakes, instead he said:  
"The train is leaving in two minutes. Let's go!"

**That's it for this chapter, I hoped you liked it but any constructive criticism is welcome.**

**R&R**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it.**

On the train to their mystery destination, Molly and Sherlock talked about general pieces of trivia, including Anderson and Sally's upcoming wedding and their joint lack of invitation, while Thomas ran up and down the train excitedly. Sherlock was making a conscious effort not to insult Molly by accident, for although he had gotten much better at it over the past eight and a half years, it would not do to upset her when he was trying to thank her for all her help without having to say an outright thank you.

Surprisingly Molly was enjoying his company, Sherlock has never been a people person who could interact naturally in social situations but with Molly's laughter he could feel himself becoming calmer and calmer, like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. Molly noticed it and grinned secretly inside. She was actually quite amused by her company. A young, blond haired and very cheerful boy, who was short for his age and a very tall dark haired serious man. A very unusual combination indeed.

She was wondering why and where Sherlock was taking them. She knew that it was not something he would do casually with no deeper reasons. Taking people out on road trips just was not his style.

After a couple of hours seated in the train, enjoying each other's company, the train finally pulled in to the station in Salisbury. Thomas leapt off the train the moment that Sherlock announced: "this is our stop," with Sherlock and Molly following at a more moderate pace.

Sherlock felt so comfortable with Molly that with very little thought he unconsciously slipped his arm through Molly's. It was only when he felt her jolt in shock did Sherlock realise what he had done and quickly retracted his arm, putting the misbehaving limb back in his pocket where it belonged.

Molly's face turned as red as a tomato. Was he…? No, that was stupid! What was he…? She looked at Sherlock. He was not looking at her, instead he followed the little one with his eyes, hands in his pockets, as usual. Molly began to doubt that it really happened, because it was such a brief moment. Her mind decided to pretend it had not happened and she continued walking normally but her heart was beating out a rhythm of its own. She was sure Sherlock could hear it.

Sherlock carefully schooled his fine features and decided to pretend the whole event had not happened, although this proved harder said than done as Molly had turned bright red and he could almost see her heart beating.

What was wrong with him recently? First, he had agreed to babysit for John and Mary while they were away, then he had decided to bring Molly and the child on this impromptu trip and now he had even caught himself holding hands with Molly in the most natural way. Was he really getting old? A grumpy old man yearning for company? No, he was not.

John was happily married now and Sherlock was living alone in 221B. At first he had tried to find a new flatmate, but then he had given up. He was okay being on his own. He did not need company. When John had come to him asking him to babysit, Sherlock had been surprised because he was the last person fit to be a babysitter. He had thought, that he had agreed to do it only because it was John that had asked him to, but now he understood that there was something else too.

Although he would never admit it, he realised that for possibly the first time in his life he was lonely. With John he had grown used to a certain kind of company, one that he now missed and craved since John and Mary had got married and moved out of London to raise their new born boy. Before John he had never needed the company, nor wanted it for that matter, but John had corrupted him all those years ago and broken in to the part of his mind where he had stored all his emotions and proceeded to bring them out in to the light of day. Even now all these years later Sherlock still found himself adjusting to different emotions that rose their heads from the murky depths of the lake in his mind palace.

Now he tried to fill this hole being with John's little boy. Sherlock had never really liked children and he made it obvious but there was something of John himself in those little eyes of Thomas's, blue and full of trust and admiration.

So here he was. In Salisbury. With Molly and John's little boy.

And maybe, just maybe tonight, a small voice whispered, too quiet to be heard except as a breath of wind. He shook himself imperceptibly before continuing to lead Molly and the child out of the station and hailing a cab.

"Wilton Park," he said slipping in to the back with the child between him and Molly.

They drove through the beautiful town, Thomas bouncing with excitement between Molly and Sherlock who looked out of the windows, each on their own side. It was awkwardly silent until the little one broke the silence.

"So... What's in the park?" he asked Sherlock noisily.

"You'll see for yourself soon."

Molly sat quiet, smiling to herself. She was already expecting what Sherlock had planned to them, a little adventure.

When they arrived at Wilton House, where the park was, Sherlock paid their entry fees before leading the others in to the park and over to the cafe for an early lunch before all the gormless idiots started clogging up the queue. While Molly and Sherlock waited for their food, Thomas ran off and started to play on the extensive play area, hanging upside down off ropes and trying to get across stepping stones that spun around as you stepped on them. He also managed to make instant friends with a young black haired boy, leaving Molly and Sherlock after they had all eaten lunch as he went off to explore the grounds of the impressive manor house.

"Thank you for doing this. He is really enjoying it here," Molly said and smiled brightly.

Sherlock's lips curved a little. "Yes, indeed, but are you?" He asked her, after all they were here because of her. His main purpose of this trip was her good mood.

"Of course! It's lovely! But Sherlock… Why did you really bring us here? It is fantastic and everything, but with you there is always a deeper meaning to everything. So… Why are we here?"

Sherlock stop in his tracks as they walked over to the Whisper Seat where you could whisper secret conversations to each other from opposite ends of the curved chair without anyone else hearing. He had never thought of Molly as stupid but neither had she ever seemed to notice the deeper meanings behind the vast majority of his actions.

He let his shoulders slump forward in defeat as he accepted that he would have to tell the cleverer than she seemed Molly the truth.

"I guess it is because it is almost nine years since I came back from the dead and I still have not thanked you for helping me. You always know how to keep on going and you keep me going as well and I appreciate that."

"Wha… That? Sherlock… I was glad I could help. I'm sure you would have done the same thing for me, too. You don't owe me anything, if that's what you're thinking. Besides… It was a very long time ago… Not that I'd forgotten… Well… I didn't mean I thought it like that…." she stuttered, Sherlock liked that. She was very shy and some kind of balance to his egotism.

"Molly. I have been very unfair to you. I have insulted you, hurt you and you have given me so much, asking nothing in return. I want you to… No, I beg you to let me give you this day and to enjoy yourself. Forget why I am doing this and just enjoy yourself, I… like… seeing you happy," he finished the last bit in a rush, desperately ignoring the small voice that whispered and hopefully many more days like it.

"Alright, Sherlock…" she said, "and thank you…" she added voice almost like a whisper.

She smiled again and Sherlock relaxed. He was going to do everything for this day to come out well. He wanted it to be perfect for Molly. After all... for all he'd done… that was the least he could give her in return. A single perfect day.

Molly was giddy with delight, Sherlock was actually thanking her and more than that, he had gone out of his way to thank her, something he would never normally do for anyone else except perhaps Mrs Hudson or John. When she had helped him, she had not wanted thanks, he was merely a person in need and she had seen it as her duty to help him but now he was thanking her and it moved her in a way should could not explain, the great Sherlock Holmes thanking her, a nobody.

Sherlock smiled and this time when his misbehaving hand snuck its way through Molly's arm he let it rest there as they walked through the grounds together, admiring the scenery and keeping an eye open for their young charge.

Molly hoped this day would never end. She was having Sherlock for herself, only if it was for one day. The weather was nice, although a little chilly, but that did not bother anyone. There were not too many people in the park, too. Nothing was playing against them.

Sherlock's hand was warm, Molly thought. Warm and… comfortable to hold.

She smiled secretly to herself and squeezed Sherlock's hand gently to try and get across to him just how grateful she was and that she understood what it meant for him to do this for her, that it meant he put her in that very small group of people he called friends. She also wanted to express how she understood what, she was fairly certain, he was feeling and that she was there to support him if he needed or wanted it.

Then there was the mere fact they were holding hands, was Sherlock holding her hand because he wanted to or because he was trying to give her the perfect day and he knew that however good she had got at pretending she did not, she did in fact still have a crush on him.

Sherlock had always known it, of course. Even if a person did not notice her dilated pupils or could not hear her heart going at about 50 miles per hour when he walked into a room, they could still see her blush and hear her stutter and these seemingly unattractive features, which presented themselves only in the presence of Sherlock, were sweet to him.

* * *

The day was growing dark, when the three of them finally left the park and drove back to the train station.

It was 8 o'clock when they finally arrived back at John's house, Sherlock carrying the child as he had fallen asleep on the train and both adults had been reluctant to wake him. Sherlock was staying at John's as him and Mary should not be returning until the next morning but Molly was staying at a hotel just down the road. After carefully putting the child to bed and having a final chat over a cup of tea, Molly and Sherlock stood awkwardly on the doorstep before Molly left.

Neither of them knew quite where they stood, they had held hands for a large part of the day so maybe something more than friends but what? The cabby who had driven them back from the train station had thought them a family and while Molly had blushed and hidden behind her fringe expecting Sherlock to protest, Sherlock had found his tongue tied, they were not a couple but for some reason he found himself unable to protest and maybe even slightly pleased. So was that what he wanted now a family? All these thoughts rushed through his mind and on a wild impulse, he bent down to brush his lips against Molly's cheek.

When Sherlock stood straight again, he saw Molly's eyes, which were now perfectly round.

"Good night, Molly. It was lovely today."

She collected herself for a moment before words came out of her mouth.

"G-Good night, Sherlock. A-And thank you… Again."

"Anytime. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Y-Yes, of course. See you."

Then Sherlock shut the door, granting himself a final look at the gobsmacked woman.

He walk through to the sitting room turned a lamp on and slumped in to an armchair, what had happened to him the past few days: agreeing to baby sit for John and Mary while they were away, thanking Molly and actually going out of his way to do so, holding hands with Molly and now kissing her. He decided to leave Molly standing on the front step to let her regain her senses instead of disturbing her and retreated to his mind palace only to find it resembling an earthquake struck and war torn ruin with everything in the wrong place and out of order.

He placed his fingertips on his temples and began to massage them with slow circulating moves, trying to fix things in his head but a sudden contradiction rose inside him. Did he actually want things to be as they were before? Or did he enjoy his new, a little more open, self? His mind palace was a mess, but there was some new things among others whatever had run a rampage inside him, had broken something loose.

And he thought he knew what it was.

* * *

Molly stood on the step for a good long moment red as a tomato to the roots of her hair and mouth hanging open like a gold fish before she closed her mouth with a snap and began walking towards her hotel. She had always had a crush on Sherlock, ever since she met him but the idea that those feelings might ever be reciprocated never occurred to her. However, she was certain now that they were, even if it was just a little bit. Earlier in the day she had not been one hundred per cent certain whether he was just being kind of if he actually felt something towards her but then she had seen Sherlock's eyes just after he had kissed her, so open, confused and vulnerable but also tender and soft. They had been asking a question the detective would never put in to words, do you accept me for who I am without asking any more of me than I can give you? And she had thought yes and projected that as honestly and strongly as she could through her own eyes, maybe the detective would notice, maybe he would not but at least she had told him.

She had chosen a nice and cosy hotel, nothing fancy. She took her key from the registration desk and went to her room, which was on the second floor. As soon as she had unlocked the hotel room door and gotten inside, she took her jacket off, dropped her bag on the bed and looked at herself in the mirror, which hung on the wall.

Her cheeks were still blooming pink. She was glad that she had worn today her favourite jeans, which fitted her perfectly but her hair had been messed up by the wind and her shirt had a little chocolate stain on the sleeve.

"Could have been worse," she sighed, turning away from the reflection.

* * *

Sherlock stared at a picture of John and Mary on the coffee table. It was one from shortly after they had started dating, John had his arms around Mary and both of them were laughing at the camera. He remembered that day; he had been the one taking the photo. They had gone for a picnic, him, John, Mary, Lestrade and Molly just after Sherlock's fabled return from the dead. It had been windy but sunny and that had been the first time Sherlock had doubted the path he had chosen for himself, seeing John and Mary so happy together. Was that what he wanted himself? To spend the rest of his life living with someone? Or not just someone but Molly?

If anyone, then only Molly. He just couldn't imagine himself with someone else. Every time in St. Bart's, when Molly brought him coffee or helped him in other ways, she tried to make herself more noticeable for the great and cold-hearted detective. Only Molly could see Sherlock as a good person, even if she knew all of his faults and Sherlock had uses her affection badly and to his advantage but she never gave up on him. She always counted on that good person with feelings inside. Maybe it was time to let it out? Be a man that Molly wanted. No, not wanted… She was not like that… Needed. He should be a man that could be worth of her love.

But what was that man like and if Sherlock let him out would any of his current self remain or would it be swallowed in a swirling tide of emotions and personality, would Molly even like a different version of him? Thoughts swirled through Sherlock's mind like a tidal wave, drowning everything in its wake and leaving him paralyzed with the fear of the unknown, so he did the only thing he knew how to in situations like this, deduce.

He looked around in the living room, letting his eyes swallow everything there. Two armchairs and a sofa, a coffee table, a fireplace with pictures on the mantelpiece, soft pillows fringed with lace and several vases of flowers; obviously the work of Mrs Watson. John had become very domestic but little details now and then showed that he still had some power in the house.

A happy marriage, Sherlock was confident. No signs of fighting at all.

Would his be like that? Wait his? Where had that come from? He was not even sure in his mind that he definitely loved Molly. Well he was he just did not want to admit it. Why not? Was it because he was scared that if Molly found out everything about him that she would not love him anymore, or because he was scared by the suddenness with which his emotions were building? No, that was not it, he had loved Molly for a long time, since that first time she deduced him, but back then he had been caught up in the game and then he had not seen her for three years except from a distance and afterwards it was different, he had been reluctant to admit how he felt to himself, let alone anyone else.

But now he had grown mellow over the years and he was tired of debating with himself over and over again. He wanted peace and Molly's presence did bring him that. So what was the question about? Him or Molly?

Of course, if he put it that way, the answer was crystal clear. Molly was the most important part of his life. He would do anything for her because this was not about him. It was for Molly, as it always should have been. So no more contradictions or debates about himself. From this moment on he would live as usual, the only difference being that he would give all his love to her. All of his life, so she could mould him into a better person

Sherlock rose and left the living room, switching off all the lights on his way by. He checked on little Thomas, who was sleeping sweetly with an adorable smile on his face and then headed to the bedroom John had said that he could use for the night.

Normally he would sleep only if he desperately needed to and today he was certainly going to do so. Sherlock shut the door behind him and undressed. Then silently he slipped himself beneath the bed sheets, falling asleep almost immediately when his head touched the pillow.

* * *

Molly sat on the bed and flicked through the channels on the TV before she went to bed. She had showered upon returning to her room to try to clear her thoughts but they were still tumbling haphazardly through her mind in a loop: Sherlock kissed me. Sherlock loves me. Will he admit it? What should I do? Should I continue as always? Or should I confront him? How much does he love me? All these thoughts kept running through her exhausted mind until she fell asleep and dreamt of his soft lips brushing her cheeks and his warn hand in hers.

**R&R**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok here's the next chapter, I hope it isn't too cliche and cheesy for anyone. I think Sherlock is slightly OOC but I still like him and figure he's had eleven years to change since the fall. Anyway let me know what you think.**

The next day dawned bright and early with Thomas deciding that it was his sworn duty to wake the peacefully sleeping detective from his restful slumber and getting the shock of his life as he jumped on to the bed, pulled the covers off the sleeping form and discovered the detective's preferred clothing, or lack thereof, for sleeping in. He screamed wildly before dashing out the room to wash his eyes out. Meanwhile a bleary-eyed face rose from the mattress before the exquisite eyes opened comically wide under the messy mop of dark hair and Sherlock let a rare cuss word slip from his mouth before wrapping a sheet around himself and getting changed to go and hunt for the traumatised boy.

As he was exiting the bedroom, he heard the front door open and from the sounds of footsteps, that told him two people were coming in. He also heard a pair of light feet pad along the hallway.

"Mummy! Daddy! You can't come in! Uncle Sherlock isn't wearing any clothes!"

Sherlock thought it was the right moment to enter. John and Mary still stood in the hallway. Mary looked worried as she hugged Thomas, but John was raising his eyebrow, in Sherlock's direction looking quite amused.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"I apologise, Thomas decided I needed an early wakeup call" Sherlock explained ruefully. John's expression lightened with understanding as Mary's took on a more bemused tone, clearly she had heard about Sherlock's sleeping habits.

"What have I said about disturbing people when they are sleeping?" she scolded lightly. Thomas had the guts to look bashful for an instant, before starting up a long explanation about their adventure with Molly the day before and all his deductions.

Sherlock threw a quick glance at his watch, which he had yet to put on and discovered that it was in fact time for him to go. John registered this from the look on his face.

"Are you going to go back to London with Molly, then?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm supposed to meet her in front of the train station in half an hour. I'd better be going now."

John stepped closer and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Thank you, for looking after Thomas."

"It was my pleasure," he said sincerely before retreating back into his room to stuff everything in his bag and put on some shoes before dashing out the door and heading towards Molly's hotel, he knew they had agreed to meet at the train station but he could not resist and wanted to see her again as soon as possible.

After he left John and Mary exchanged a look, Sherlock never enjoyed babysitting for them however much he said he did, and he never left that quickly, usually hanging around for the rest of the morning before leaving. He had certainly never left that quickly before, apart from the one time Lestrade had called him back down to London to investigate a murder but, fearing the wrath of Mary if he left their child alone, he had waited for John and Mary to come back before dashing out in a whirlwind of coat. Clearly something was going on that the two were not aware of and John had a sneaking suspicion it involved Molly.

* * *

Molly woke up. She washed herself and put on a little make-up. As she combed her hair out she decided that today she was not going to look dull with her usual ponytail, but instead that she would style her hair the way Sherlock had once complimented her about. She wanted to look great.

She set her hair on one side, braiding it so it would all fall freely on her left shoulder, but be attached on the right side and behind her head. She was good with her hair. Her mother had taught her lots of different way to style it when she was a child.

When she was pleased with the result, Molly put on the clothes that she had worn yesterday because she had not thought to bring any spare ones. She had thought she would not be wanting to change them as Sherlock would not really care either way, but now she regretted her decision.

She repacked her bag before heading down to the hotel's restaurant and tucking in to a fruit salad and a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast while reading the morning paper which she had grabbed as she passed through reception. Just as she was finishing her meal, she heard the most make you melt where you sit voice in existence call her name.

When Sherlock entered the hotel he could see Molly eating in the restaurant, with her back to him and decided to join her for some breakfast. She look amazing, he loved the way she had done her hair and remembered it as the way he had complimented all those years before, although back then it had only been so he could look at a couple of bodies. The sun caught her hair and formed a halo around her head.

"Molly."

"S-Sherlock! I thought we'd meet at the station?"

"Change of plans," he said with a slight smile. "Mind if I join you?" He pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the small table.

"Sure… Do you take anything…?" She smiled back, folded the newspaper and put it away.

"No. Not hungry." He sat down, looking Molly straight in her brown beautiful eyes. She felt the butterflies in her stomach

"About yesterday, I just wanted to say," began the detective hesitantly. Oh, this is it thought Molly, bracing herself, this is the bit where he denies everything. It never occurred to her that the words she heard next would ever leave the detective's mouth.

"Molly Hooper you are the most important woman in my entire life. I know I could never repay all the things you have given me, but I promise that I will try at any cost. I will make my very best effort to take care of you for the rest of my life. Will you accept me as I am now, because, if not, I can change for you and I most certainly will change for you."

Molly's mouth fell open. All the circuits in her head lost power and she stared at Sherlock like a half-minded.

"Too cliché?"

"N-no, not cliché, beautiful. I will accept you as you are now, and you never have to change yourself for me, I love you for the way you are now and I will always love you no matter what because that is what true, honest, pure love is. And Sherlock Holmes you have repaid me tenfold what you ever needed to, I helped you because you were my friend and you were in need, that is what friends do and it does not need repaying."

"Molly that time in St Bart's is not the only thing you have given me. It's every little smile, every wave, every gift, every time you have listened to me complain about stuff that does not matter, it is every second spent in your presence and the way you light up a room that is what you have given me."

They looked deeply into each other's eyes. No more words were needed. Molly was so utterly, overwhelmingly in love with Sherlock at that moment, that even if she had wanted to say more, she could not have uttered a word.

Sherlock felt a dizzy feeling that he had never felt before. It was some kind of heat that came from his heart and spread throughout his body, warming him from the inside out. He thought he knew what it was, but he never knew it would be this powerful. Swallowing his mind and senses, it crept through him, making him feel whole.

She had said yes to him.

They were together and if he had his way they would always be together to the end time. Nothing mattered anymore only Molly and making her happy, he carefully reached across the table, lightly cupped her face in his hand, and whispered, "Always together, forever."

The only way to feel Molly's feelings at that moment would be to die ten times over from happiness and then be resurrected with love, surrounded with clouds of hopes and dreams come true. She touched Sherlock's hand on her face. Never before had there been so certain a proof of Sherlock Holmes's great heart, that Molly had always known existed inside. She smiled, because he'd finally let it show and he smiled in return.

It was not a fantastically, passionately romantic agreement to be together, it was a warm, tender moment between two people who loved each other so much that words were not necessary. Both felt they had never been so connected to another person in their lives and although the feeling was new and slightly scary, like standing at the top of a tall cliff, both of them were happier knowing that they had someone to share their experiences with.

* * *

They walked to the train station, hand in hand, like yesterday except today they knew why. As if the whole world was cheering for them, the weather just could not be nicer with the sun was shining brightly and the air was clear and crisp.

The train to London departed right on time. Molly and Sherlock sat, looking out of the window and watching the beautiful landscape as it passed by. They had finally let go of each other's hand. It was not only the physical touch that made Molly tremble in delight, but also the way that Sherlock looked at her with such intensity, as if he was seeing right through to her soul.

Each of them would steal glances at the other as they were looking out the window, admiring the shape of an ear the way the sun fell across a face, the long lashes casting shadows down perfect cheeks. Occasionally they would catch each other's eye and a faint smile or blush would cross their faces. Even when they did not see the other looking at them they could feel it and a warm, safe feeling would rise, bubbling through their chests for both knew the other would never let any harm come by them.

During the ride, Sherlock thought about how it was going to be from then on. Complicated? Casual? Simple? Too simple? There was no way to work it out or deduce it they would have to wait and see where this new relationship took them. However, each time the sun laid its rays on Molly's face and made a luminous halo around her chocolate brown hair, he got distracted.

Was this the way he was going to be from now on? Distracted by very strong feelings for a woman?

"So, what now?" Molly asked tentatively, interrupting the detective's train of thought, unsure what exactly her future now held.

"Well we could go back to Baker Street via Scotland Yard as I am sure Lestrade is having a melt down without me," Sherlock said calmly, his serene façade disguising his inner uncertainty of _What Happens Now_.

Molly smiled at Sherlock's answer realising he was just as unsure as her and that for once the detective did not have some grand scheme planned out, they would be exploring new territory together.

"That sounds good," she whispered, moving to sit next to Sherlock and resting her head on his shoulder, before drifting into a light travel induced doze.

* * *

Lestrade had indeed had a busy day and without Sherlock in town, he was at a loss of how to continue with his current case. A new serious case of murders had started up with three people already having been killed, it seemed, by the same murderer.

Scotland Yard was not even close catching the lunatic for there had not been any clues left behind at the crime scenes. Of course, when Sherlock arrived he would see absolutely everything very clearly and would accuse them for being so dumb and not seeing things that were obvious.

But right now all that Lestrade could do was to wait with his feet propped up on his desk for the detective to return.

He sat in his office, waiting for the detective to come gloating in, collar turned up, hat low and cheekbones prominent. He knew that the detective would come straight to Scotland Yard the moment he returned to London. What he was not expecting was for Sherlock to come in with a rather harried looking Molly trying to keep up with his long strides or for him to release her hand from his grasp so as to slump down at the chair in front of Lestrade's desk. In fact it was so unexpected that when he saw this unusual sight Lestrade toppled backwards out of his chair.

"Practising for circus, Lestrade?" asked Sherlock, lifting his right eyebrow. The detective inspector got himself together and watched the two of them suspiciously.

"Just… I didn't expect you to bring Molly with you," the named one blushed.

"John has to work and as Molly is also a close friend of mine I have adopted her as my new assistant because Anderson still won't work with me. Do you have a problem with that? "

Lestrade looked embarrassed. "Of course not. I was just surprised is all."

"The case?"

"Uh… Ah yes the case. We have a new set of very violent murders, three so far, all women, all brown haired with their faces removed post mortem. Wounds look surgical but it is hard to tell, we are waiting for the autopsy as we speak. Oh and we think they were drugged first, cause of death is as yet unclear." Lestrade saw the look on Sherlock's face and sighed exasperatedly "you want to see the bodies don't you?"

"Yes I do not trust your lot, especially Anderson. Besides how do you expect me to deduce anything without seeing anything of use?" As Sherlock finished speaking a young sergeant stuck his head around the door, "we've got another one sir."

Lestrade rose quickly and stormed out of the door, followed by Sherlock, who dragged Molly along, grabbing her hand. The young sergeant gave Lestrade the details of the crime scene and the address.

The three of them sat in a police car, which took them to the right place. It was an old abandoned building, seemed to have been on fire some years ago, as Sherlock deduced by the black burnt walls. Molly was nervous, because she had never been to an actual crime scene before. She just saw the bodies in the morgue but Sherlock was rather enjoying himself, so Molly did not think about it much.

**Thanks to anyone who reviewed last chapter. After today I am going to try and update once or twice a week, depending. R&R**


	4. Chapter 4

**See I did manage to update within a week, just. I had hoped to update sooner but life's been pretty hectic recently, so sorry about that, I'll try to do better in future. Anyway on to the story and let's see how Molly deals with her first crime scene. Also feel free to tell me your guesses and ideas about what is going to happen, they always intrigue me.**

_The three of them sat in a police car, which took them to the right place. It was an old abandoned building, seemed to have been on fire some years ago, as Sherlock deduced by the black burnt walls. Molly was nervous, because she had never been to an actual crime scene before. She just saw the bodies in the morgue but Sherlock was rather enjoying himself, so Molly did not think about it much._

Upon arriving Sherlock swept in to the building blowing past Anderson in a whirlwind of coat and following the drag marks of the floor through the building to the body.

"Who found her," he asked curtly already beginning to deduce.

The practical trousers with traces of mud, she had been out walking, one leg was muddier than the other, with a dog on lead, from height of marks and traces of fur a Bernese Mountain Dog or similar. The finger nails were short and practical but clean and well cared for, a practical hands on job but clean hands so probably something like a doctor or dentist, only a simple wedding band and moisturised hands so probably wears surgical gloves a lot of the time at work, hair kept tided back in low bun, a job where she looked down on her patient also her teeth were well kept and straight, a dentist then.

The drag marks already told him that the woman was dragged to her current location while she was unconscious. There were some bruises on her, but nothing to say that there was a struggle. So the murderer had caught her off-guard, probably from behind. Unless she knew him which would be very unlikely because of the number of deaths.

"Find the dog," Sherlock said, finally finished looking over the body.

"The do… Oh, never mind…" Lestrade sighed on the doorway, where he had been monitoring Sherlock. "Find the dog!" he shouted to the investigators in the house.

"Molly, come over here," Sherlock beckoned with his hand as he called to Molly who had hung back by the door.

Molly carefully walked over to Sherlock, avoiding a smashed bottle, from where she had hung back by the door to let Sherlock examine the body alone.

"What can you tell me about the cause of death, from a medical point of view?" he asked. Molly carefully bent down and peered carefully at the body in front of her.

"Well rigor has started to set in but no by very much so I would say she's been dead for about four to five hours. Cause of death isn't clear but the wounds on the face are definitely surgical and umm… wait what's this?" she sounded puzzled as she leant over the bloody mess where the face should be, trying to look in to the mouth. She beckoned to the coroner who had arrived while they were speaking and asked, "can we open her mouth, there is something in it."

"Yeah, sure," he said hesitantly. Carefully they prised the woman's jaw open.

"I think we just found the cause of death," Molly said standing up. "Her attacker poured liquid nitrogen down her throat, freezing it so it became solid and cracked, she probably had to breathe so I expect there is some in her lungs as well."

Lestrade looked surprised. "Well that's a hell of a way to kill someone. Liquid nitrogen! …At least we have a lead now. It's not that you can buy it in any shop, is it?" He turned from the room and went to the police officers down the hall. He explained the discovery. The officers nodded and left to go back to Scotland Yard and start searches on any strange liquid nitrogen purchases.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked Molly. "No, I don't think so," she said, looking at the body again.  
"You were excellent!"

Molly blushed at the compliment and tucked her hair behind her ear self-consciously.

"Well we know a few things about the killer now I suppose." she said as they walked out the building and got in to the waiting police car.

"Like what?" encouraged Sherlock.

"The wounds are surgical, and the killer was able to get hold of liquid nitrogen so they probably work in a hospital as a surgeon or something similar."

"Yes that is right and then there is the matter of the victims, all of them have brown hair, possibly some sought of hate crime. Also is might not be of significance but that last one was a dentist so there is a reasonable chance she worked in a hospital as well."

"And what about the dog? Did she have one? I mean… I saw the hair…" Molly looked at Sherlock who was deep in thought.

He answered, still in the far lands of his mind palace." Yes. She was walking it. Either the dog ran off or the killer has it. If so, then why?" He placed his fingertips together and leaned against the backseat of the police car, closing his eyes.

Sherlock did not make a sound for the next fifteen minutes while the car drove back to Scotland Yard, where Sherlock could report on what he had seen.

* * *

Lestrade mused on what he had seen back at the murder scene, not the body, there was nothing he could do until Sherlock and forensics got back to him. Rather he could not help but notice the change in Sherlock and the dynamic between him and Molly. Sherlock had never brought anyone other than John to a crime scene but now he had brought Molly along (and held hands in doing so) and not only that but he had actually been as civil as was capable for him. Lestrade was not a genius detective but it was clear the two had finally gotten together, he sighed with relief, now he might not have his brain fried by the romantic tension between them when they were both in the same room.

* * *

Lestrade was already in his office when the two of them arrived. "Anything else important?" he asked Sherlock the moment he and Molly entered the office.

"Victim was probably a dentist, about thirty year's old, brown hair. Drugged with chloroform from behind. Cause of death: liquid nitrogen poured down her throat while she was unconscious. She was walking her dog when she was attacked. A woman like her, she would walk her dog in an open park. So the murderer had planned for it to be her, so he must have known her at least by face. Now the murderer… He is a psychopath, mentally disturbed. Most likely a man. He works or has worked as a surgeon or something similar, hence the skill of the cuts, probably still does as he managed to get chloroform and liquid nitrogen. I would suggest looking for people missing from hospitals or hospital staff as that seems to be the common factor so far. Also have you found that dog yet and can I look at the previous crime scenes?" Sherlock spouted off.

"No dog. Not yet. I can take you to the crime scenes, but there isn't much. All abandoned houses, drag marks on the floor, no trace of the murderer…"

"Fine, I believe you. It would not give us new information anyway. I think we have enough for now. I do not have more to tell you. You just have to do your jobs now and find the murderer. I think he has left you enough leads to work with for now. Unless… Molly's got some theories?" Sherlock turned to her.

"Wha…?! Me…?!"

"Yes you."

"Well um I'd like to examine the bodies from a medical point of view," Molly forced out, tripping over her words at the unexpectedness of Sherlock asking her for her opinion, while Lestrade struggled not to fall out of his chair again in shock.

"Ok let's go to the morgue," said Sherlock whirling out the door and dragging Molly with him.

* * *

The morgue was empty.

"Are you sure we're allowed here?" asked Molly, because she had never before been to Scotland Yard's morgue, which was so different from her own place at St. Barts's. The dead bodies of the maniac's victims were temporarily stored here, to be moved to St Bart's at a later date for closer examination, most likely carried out by her or Ben.

"Somebody definitely minds, but that is not our problem. I would say that the people here own me, so a small use of their resources shouldn't cause any serious problems."

"Ok, so who was the first victim?" Molly said as she pulled the four bodies out.

"This one," Sherlock tapped one of the slide out trays that the bodies were lain on.

"Hmm ok," Molly was in her element now going from one body to the other, "from rigor and swelling all these women were killed close together time wise. Wait did you say this one was first?"

"Yes it was the first they found."

"But it can't have been the first killed, rigor is at a later stage in this body here and the surgical wounds are less clinical, as if the attacker was still unsure about what he was doing," Molly stated, proud to have contributed to the investigation.

"So… The murders took place around the same time."

"Yes. Half a day in between, maximum."

Sherlock smiled. "He's in a hurry and when people do things in haste, they make mistakes and that is good for us."

Molly continued to examine the bodies. She discovered, that all the victims looked very much alike. Not only the hair colour, but also the height and the shape of body. The faces were so deeply damaged, that it was difficult to say anything else about these women. Were they beautiful, average, ugly?

Just as they were leaving Lestrade caught up with them gripping a piece of paper tightly.

"We think we've identified the second body as Amamda Lindon-"

"Oh my gosh, I know her," Molly cried; "we have lunch together every Thursday in the St Bart's canteen. What happened?"

"She had gone out to do the shopping and never came back, her partner returned from a business trip this morning and reported her missing after speaking to the neighbours to see if they knew where she was."

"She was going to get married in three weeks' time," whispered Molly sinking to the ground. She did not notice the look of growing concern on Sherlock's face and mistook the hand he rested with a protective possessiveness on her shoulder as one to offer sympathy.

Sherlock was worried, all the bodies were similar to Molly not only in appearance but from what he could tell they were also all connected hospitals, could she be next on the list? The crimes were on similar looking people so probably a hate or revenge crime where the killer felt the need to get revenge on anyone who looked like the object of their hate or love gone wrong.

"Molly do you want to go and get a tissue from the loo I just want to discuss a few things with Lestrade before we go," he murmured, bending down to whisper in her ear.

Sherlock left and Molly stood alone in the cold, gloomy morgue, surrounded by the dead bodies of four brutally murdered women. As if destiny was not cruel enough to them, now it had gotten personal. A couple of tears rolled slowly down Molly's cheeks.

Amanda had been a very nice person. She worked as a nurse in St Bartholomew's. No one could have anything against her, she was always helpful, that had been how they had first met - Molly could not find her phone, but Amanda had seen her drop it and bought it back to her. They had become good friends, often going out to the cinema or talks together.

Molly wiped her tears away with some tissues next to the sink and got to work. She would find the person responsible for this.

* * *

Sherlock led Lestrade out into the corridor and spun around so that he could face the detective while also keeping an eye on the door to make sure Molly did not come out and overhear them.

"I am worried Molly is a future victim of our killer," he explained his theory quickly, watching as the information sunk into Lestrade. "Even if she is not the base for people who look like her getting killed, she fits all the criteria we have ascertained for the killers MO," he finished seeing the growing concern in Lestrade's eyes.

"You should keep an eye on her. Your theory is putting her on the list. I cannot give her the protection of the police, because there isn't any certain proof pointing directly at her, but I'm sure that you can guarantee her safety yourself. Be attentive, be alarmed is all the advice I can give you right now, but with you… I don't think you'll be needing my advice."

"I'd take her to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't mind her staying with us but then I'd have to tell her why and I don't want to upset her."

"You won't have to. Trust me. She'll come anyway."

Just then Molly came up to them, after putting the bodies away, and slipped her hand in to Sherlock's, "are you ready to go?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Yes, I was thinking you could come back to Baker Street and then we could go for dinner together," Sherlock suggested, determined not to lose Molly as he steered her towards a cab.

"Ok, sounds like a plan, but can we go back to my house first so I can change?"

Lestrade smiled as he watched them walk off, it was a tired smile, but a happy one, he was pleased for Sherlock and Molly even if none of his relationships lasted for more than a few months nowadays.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I promise the next chapter will be longer. **

**R&R**


	5. Chapter 5

**And here it is, the next chapter. It is nice and long so enjoy.**

**This chapter contains lemons, you have been warned.**

Molly lived in a small apartment with three rooms, not very far from St Bart's. Sherlock had never been there before, but he knew what to expect from it. Cushions, patterned cloths, deep brown wooden coffee tables and bookshelves, a comfortable sofa, light coloured curtains, family pictures and a big old clock on the wall. Everything was so… Molly.

She told Sherlock to wait and make himself at home, while she got herself ready in her bedroom. When the door closed behind Molly, Sherlock immediately started looking around the room like a inquisitive dog, wanting to make sure that no murdering psychopath had been there.

Finding nothing out of place he sat down in one of the two armchairs and began to flick through the various magazines Molly had left lying in a neat pile on the coffee table, there were science journals discussing the latest developments on the scientific frontier, a newspaper from three days ago and even a couple fashion/gossip magazines.

He looked up as Molly came in to the room and smiled, she had redone her hair and put on a change of clothes that complimented her figure nicely along with the coat he had gotten her last year.

"Do you want to grab a few things to keep at Baker Street," he suggested, "I mean, we will probably be seeing a lot more of each other." He was careful not to mention that it was his fearing for her safety that made him seem so eager to rush their relationship forward.

Molly felt the blood rush to her face at a speed that could almost be called unnatural. Was he implying that they… No! This was Sherlock they were talking about! He was not like that!

"Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock asked innocently. Maybe he had managed to insult Molly with that proposition. What else could make her turn so beautifully red.

"No, no, no… I'll just grab some stuff." She blushed slightly more before disappearing hurriedly into her bedroom again.

What was she going to take? Toothbrush, comb, some spare clothes (she would not make the same mistake twice), and what about her pyjamas… She usually wore ones with kittens on them, but with Sherlock that would be embarrassing…

She eventually decided on a big old t-shirt and a pair of tracksuits with the lilac silk dressing gown that had a dragon embroidered on the back, which had been a present from her father shortly before he died. She put everything in a small daysack and returned to the living room. Sherlock looked back over his shoulder from where he was peering out her window at something across the street.

"Who lives opposite you," he asked curiously.

"Uh no one since Mrs Jenkins moved to a retirement home last month. Why?"

"Oh I just wondered," Sherlock replied turning to face her and although it was clear he was lying she let it slide.

"We should get going"

"Um, ok you go ahead and try and grab a taxi, I'll just lock up," said Molly thinking quickly.

"Sure," Sherlock walked down the stairs while Molly dashed across her living room to look out the window at the apartment opposite, she could not see anything at first but as she turned away she thought she caught a glimpse of something flashing in one of the windows, however, when she turned back, it was gone.

* * *

Sherlock took Molly to a restaurant, which was not expensive nor crowded, but served good food, which was far more important. Molly liked the idea of pasta and Sherlock, although he was not hungry, ordered two spaghetti bolognaises, just to be polite.

The dinner went smoothly and Sherlock found out things about Molly that he could never have deduced. For example her favourite bands and books, what kind of TV-shows she watched, actors she liked. He found her to be so much bigger and more colourful on the inside, than any stranger could tell by merely looking at her. Moreover, Molly discovered that the open "new" Sherlock, was a listener whom she could freely talk with and who would understand and in some cases even give advice or help with her problems.

As the evening drew to a close Sherlock desperately racked his brains for a way to get Molly back to his flat without letting on about his growing concern of her being the next in line on the _to be murdered_ list.

"Sherlock?" he looked up, startled, from intently studying the wood grain on the table, "you think I'm next don't you?" Well there went keeping that one secret, he should not have underestimated Molly.

"Yes, or if not next, soon," he told her letting out a deflated sigh, it was now or never, "would you mind staying at Baker Street until we have solved this case? I could never live with myself if you got killed or hurt in any way." It was probably the most honest Sherlock had ever been towards anyone, apart from his little declaration of love the previous night. To admit to himself, let alone out loud, that he would not be able to live without a certain person was a massive change in the ever flowing cloak of his persona.

"I wouldn't mind if that's what you want. But, Sherlock, you can't lock me up forever…" She was concerned, that he might become over-protective.

"I won't. Just until we catch the killer. I can't risk anything, he is a man with no limits. He will not stop."

Sherlock touched her soft hand with his fingertips, to assure her that no one will get past him. Once a man had tried to get to him by hurting his friends. That man was no longer there to tell that story. He would protect Molly at any cost.

He knew Molly as an individual person who could stand up for herself but this killer was as viscous they came and he was not prepared to lose Molly just as he got her. He realised just how selfish he was but he had seen a telescope lens flash in the sunlight which streamed into the window of the apartment opposite Molly's and he knew the killer would come for her soon, and if he had to drive her insane by hanging around her like a stray dog to keep her safe, he would. Because that was the thing, those three years had been hell for him, watching John collapse in on himself from a distance, watching Molly continue her life as if he was dead even though she knew he was alive, and watching a change come over Mycroft before reading about how he had hung himself and being able to do nothing about it. He could not go through that again; he refused to be separated from those he cared for, especially if it was on a permanent basis.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked and when Molly nodded in reply, they rose. Sherlock paid the bill, ignoring her protests.

Outside he hailed a cab again and gave the driver the address. During the ride they held hands, Sherlock's index finger gently drawing small patterns on Molly's palm, which left a pleasurable tickle, like her body cells were cheering for the long desired touch while still craving more.

* * *

They arrived and Sherlock led Molly inside the house. The upstairs room was messier than she remembered.

She guessed that Mrs Hudson had given up hope on ever getting the place clean and without John visiting at the weekends like he used to Sherlock had allowed his stuff to accumulate on every surface. She did not mind though, the whole flat spoke volumes about it current occupant and his way of life.

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat, throwing it in the general direction of the coat rack before helping Molly out of hers, like a true English gentleman. He took more care with her coat, hanging it carefully on the coat rack.

He turned back to her and pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her slowly.

The moment their lips met, Molly felt like she had been struck by lightning. She was burning. Everywhere where his skin met hers, she could feel little flames dancing around the contact, melting her, until she was completely wrapped up in his arms and all she could do was to kiss back.

It was no less of a sensation for Sherlock as well. Usually so reasonable, but right now his mind was empty except for the thought of Molly. Molly in his embrace. Molly's lips on him. Molly's warm hands slowly finding their way to his neck. Molly's fingers in his hair. Molly, Molly, Molly… Why was she so perfect?

Molly twisted her fingers in his soft dark, chocolate locks, which she had longed to stroke for so long, pulling Sherlock closer to herself so there was no space between them. Where the kiss had started off tender, it now burned with a fiery passion, both parties trying to make up for lost time, to be as close to the other as possible. Sherlock swiped his tongue against Molly's lips asking for entry, which she granted, greedily pulling his tongue in to her mouth and fighting for dominance. While their mouths fought together with burning desire Sherlock let his hands wonder down Molly's back, caressing it gently and tugging her closer still, trying to become one with her.

They had never been closer than now, pressed against one another. It would not be right to call their moves decent, as Sherlock's hands moved underneath Molly's shirt and laid to rest on her waist, finally getting what he needed, more of her warm smooth skin. Molly shivered gently and pulled him closer, if that was even possible. Mouths synchronized, they finally lost themselves to each other. But the kiss could not satisfy their thirst. Quite the opposite, it made them want each other even more. A humanly need for oxygen was what eventually pulled them apart again. Both breathing deeply, foreheads still together, they looked into their partner's eyes. Molly's so shining chocolate-brown and Sherlock's so beautiful a colour with a depth to them like the ocean.

Sherlock's eyes had an unspoken question written in them, "I can give you everything I am here and now, I can make you mine forever but will you accept me as I am, is this what you truly want or are you going to take my heart before leaving?"

Molly closed the distance between their mouths and just as their lips brushed, she breathed out a barely audible "yes" that spoke volumes beyond the three letters of which it was comprised. Suddenly Sherlock's hand were all over her, feeling every inch of her, desperate to touch and assure that she was real but also gentle and tender like the hands of a temple dancer. She lent her head back to allow Sherlock access to her neck as she began to unbutton, with fumbling fingers, the purple shirt that clung to his oh so perfect torso.

Sherlock's lips caressed her neck and he pressed small kisses under her jawline, while she unbuttoned his shirt until he stood bare chested before her. He was slim, fit and breath-taking. Molly looked at him appreciatively. Now it was his turn. Sherlock slowly pulled her shirt over her head and gasped. Molly was wearing a classical white lace bra. However, that was not the reason he cupped her face and pulled her closer again, to kiss her very gently on the mouth, just a tiny brush of lips. She had blushed in the way Sherlock thought was the most heart-melting thing in the world. Cheeks as red as roses, her eyes dropped to the floor with an innocent shyness.

He let his hand run up her bare sides as he drew her close to him once more, caressing her breasts tenderly and rubbing his thumbs lightly over her nipples through the cloth of her bra while he sucked lightly on the pounding pulse in her neck causing her to writhe and moan in pleasure. He carefully released Molly and guided her in to his bedroom the fleeting thought that he should have tided it earlier passing through his mind as they tumbled on to the bed in a tangle of limbs. Somewhere along the way he had disposed of his shirt and Molly's bra so they were now both topless. He flipped them over so he sat crouched between her legs as she lay on her back staring down at him lustfully.

They sunk into the kiss again, letting it evolve deeper and deeper. Sherlock laid his hands on her stomach, then moved lower reaching the waistband of her jeans. Although Molly was a shy woman, it was not her first time. It was Sherlock who was the virgin. He stopped, as if too afraid to continue. Molly put her fingers on his hands and looked him directly in the eye, assuring him this was what she wanted. No more hesitations, he opened the button, slid the zip open and helped her out of the piece of tight fitting cloth covering her from his sight. Her knickers matched her bra.

Again, he paused, but this time to admire the sight before him; Molly lay wanton before him naked with a thin sheen of sex and her tousled hair flaring out on the pillow behind her. Her eyes half- closed in lust, the pupils dilated until her eyes looked black.

To Molly, Sherlock was the paradigm of godlike, his chocolate locks plastered to his forehead above stunning eyes that shifted with the changing light and which were dark with desire. His cheekbones were silhouetted perfectly as his gazed down at her, memorising her body in all its crowning glory. She let her eyes trail lower; past his sculpted chest and navel to his lean hips where she pouted upon realising he was still wearing his trousers. Deciding to resolve the matter she knelt up and began to unfasten his trousers as she once more joined lips with that sinful mouth.

Sherlock had no reason to oppose her. After all, it was what they both wanted. She was fast and elegant now, nothing like her usual self and Sherlock liked it. He loved the shy Molly and he loved the swan that rose inside her, when she became bold. He promised to devote himself to her and with great pleasure he did so.

They knelt on Sherlock's bed, completely naked. His hands were on her waist from where they then proceeded to her back, gently touching every vertebra. She used this great opportunity to feel his bare chest and let her right hand to the rest in the place where his heart pounded strongest while she slid her left hand over his shoulder and down his arm.

She carefully leaned forwards, neck swan-like in its grace, and circled his nipple with her tongue, caressing it before nipping it lightly with her tongue and smiling slightly as she felt Sherlock shiver beneath her touch. She moved over to his other side to give the other nipple the same sort of attention.

Sherlock was is bliss and wanted nothing more than to spend the night writhing under Molly's ministrations but he refused to leave Molly unsatisfied with their first time together. Still he was slightly uncertain about how to give Molly the same pleasure that he was feeling having only ever looked upon the joining of two people from a medical point of view. Cautiously he let his warm hands circle towards her front and cupped her breasts kneading them and tugging slightly at her pert nipples. Molly let her head roll back and her eyes close in bliss as another wave of pleasure coursed through her body, encouraged Sherlock became bolder and swept down to return the ministrations which Molly had dealt out to him, pushing her back on to the bed.

The days were still warm and long, the evening sun laid its last rays on London, making the atmosphere in the first floor bedroom at 221B Baker Street perfect. The two pale bodies on the bed were surrounded by the light of the setting sun as they explored each other for the first time,  
Sherlock was kissing Molly's neck again, trying to find her weak spot. He knew he had, when a small moan got past her lips. He let his tongue slide over the spot again, being assured that that was the right place by Molly's shiver. She found his, not even trying, because she knew. His temples. She reached her hands for his hair, placing her fingers in its dark softness and pulling his head to her lips.

Sherlock let out a shuddered exhale and rested his body on top of Molly's, moaning at the delicious friction between their heated forms. Everywhere their bodies touched each other was a shot of electricity and he could feel something coiling deeply inside him like a spring tightening. Molly, sensing his need ran her hand between them and grasped his solid length, smiling as he instinctively bucked in to her hand, writhing at the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through his veins and set his body on fire.

Sherlock slid his silken digits between Molly's open thighs and gasped at how wet she already was. He rubbed her with his thumb watching her face as she twisted with pleasure under his touch. He delicately slipped a single finger in to her tight heat feeling for the spot that would have her gasping with desire.

They were now both ready. Foreplay was over and Sherlock pushed her thighs apart. He reached into his bedside table and pulled out a small square pouch, seeing it Molly laid her hand on his shoulder and murmured, "I'm on the pill and clean, you don't have to wear that if you don't want, I trust you." Sherlock smiled down at Molly and replaced the condom before returning to his position.

They both let out a groan of pleasure when his erection finally entered her body. Molly's fingers found his buttocks and pulled him even closer. She was so perfectly aware of every part where they touched. Fantasies had become reality. She locked her legs behind his back and he began. Rhythm so powerful, bringing pleasure on every level possible. He was astonished of how they could not have been like this before, united. Molly had awoken new parts of him that he did not know even existed. They both were blinded by the magnificence of being as close as physically possible.

The thing that had begun to stir in Sherlock's stomach coiled tighter and tighter seeking a release and urging him to pound faster and harder in to Molly. He panted her name over and again, his voice merging into hers as she called his name and they both approached their climax. Molly clawed at Sherlock's back with her nails as she reached her climax screaming out his name. Sherlock followed almost immediately, the feeling of Molly clenching around him and the look of pure ecstasy on her face pushing him over the edge into joining her. The feelings that were flowing through Sherlock were beyond anything he had every experienced and he wondered what he had missed in life by shutting out the emotions that until now he had considered a burden.

They lay breathless on tumbled sheets, skin covered with a sheen of sweat. Sherlock lifted his right hand to touch Molly once more, to make sure she was really there, although he knew nothing else could make him feel like this. They were lying face to face and he caressed her features, Molly smiled in delight, he was so gentle. The man of her dreams lying next to her, after they had made passionate love, looking at her like there was nothing else in the whole world… She would never get used to it… Oh, he had been so very good…

Sudden realisation hit her.

"Was this your…"

He smiled. "…my first time? Yes."

She gasped in shock and amazement at the size off the gift he had given her so willingly, with so much trust and love. A gift that she would treasure long in to the future, until time ran out. She snuggled closer to Sherlock as he wrapped his arms around her as they dozed off in a pleasant post coitus haze.

* * *

From the roof of a building several streets over a man put down a pair of binoculars and cussed quietly, why was she not coming out of the house? What did that man have that he did not? Why did she notice that man and not him?

**Ahh, what is this? who is watching Molly from afar?**

**Anyway I hope you had as much fun reading this as we did writing it, This was both our first Lemons so let us know what you thought. **

**R&R**


	6. Chapter 6

**Wolf: Sorry for taking so long to update, I had a really good reason. Honest. *Dives behind sofa to avoid shower of rotten fruit, shoes and pointy objects***

**Lilith: Stop lying and get on with the story, no one wants to hear your life story.**

**Plot Bunny Intern: Anyway while the CEO tries to murder the Director, *Screams of bloody murder in background* enjoy the story.**

When Molly woke the next morning, she discovered with alarm that Sherlock was not beside her. Sighing in relief as she heard his recognizable footsteps in the kitchen she looked around the relatively simple if slightly messy room and grabbed Sherlock's dressing gown, wrapping it around her before leaving the bedroom.

"Morning," he greeted her, drinking tea and preparing breakfast for them both in the kitchen.  
"Morning," she replied and then blushed, when she remembered all the finer details of the previous night upon seeing Sherlock.

Sherlock put down his coffee mug and stepped up to the beautiful blushing woman wrapped up so temptingly in his dressing gown. He placed his arms around her and whispered in her ear, "so, what did you think of last night, did you enjoy it?" His tone was innocent and playful on top but held a deeper layer of apprehension underneath, the great Sherlock Holmes was uncertain of how well he had fulfilled his role the previous night and if he had managed to give Molly everything she deserved.

"I-it was very enjoyable," Molly blushed and hid her head in Sherlock's shoulder, embarrassed by the images that suddenly sprang to mind. Sherlock smiled secretly to himself at the return of the shy, modest Molly he knew so well, not that he had not loved the bold, adventurous version that had bloomed last night.

Sherlock kissed her gently on the lips and Molly blushed even more.

"Do you have any idea how lovely you are when you do that?" He let her go, stepped away and admired her from distance. The dressing gown had come loose when he hugged her and now hung open, revealing to Sherlock that the dressing gown was all she wore and he could not help smiling.

"Breakfast?"

"I'd love to."

He had prepared toast for them and they sat at the kitchen table. While eating, Molly watched him closely. He had changed over the years she had known him, but for the better she thought. Where once before he had been a cold-hearted man, now his heart of ice had melted and a completely warm kind-hearted man had been revealed.

In the same way Sherlock studied Molly, today there was a glow about her as if she was shining from the inside out. He had seen her like this on only a few occasions, on none of which she had been wearing lipstick and, in recent years, on which he had felt some inexplicable green monster raise its head. He realised what that emotion had been now, jealously.

"I should probably put some clothes on," she said, drinking the last sip of tea Sherlock had poured her.  
"If you like. They're around… somewhere…"

* * *

Her shirt was in the living-room, bra halfway to Sherlock's bedroom and her knickers and trousers in there. She had taken off her shoes in the hall and had placed them next to her bag, so luckily they were not scattered around the flat like everything else. Molly hoped that Mrs Hudson had not come in the previous night because it would be extremely awkward to meet her again and know that the old landlady had seen her underwear in Sherlock's apartment and no doubt realised what they had been doing.

Just as Molly finished changing, there was a knock on the front door. Sherlock who had been looking out the window and playing the violin when the knock came was already halfway down the stairs by the time Molly poked her head out of the bedroom door. A sergeant stood on the front doorstep when Sherlock opened it.

Startled by the detective's unusual exuberance he stumbled over his word slightly as he told Sherlock, "Lestrade told me to tell you that there has been another one and to take you and Miss Hooper to this address." He handed a piece of paper over to Sherlock.

He gave a slight look at it and then shouted over his shoulder: "Molly! Bring my coat!"

"One second!" she called back, running down the stairs and grabbing their coats on the way. She had heard the officer's words and could not believe that yet another victim had been found. Was this going to last forever or just until all the brown-haired women in London were dead? In any case, the amount of dead bodies was growing over the limits of sanity.

"Where?" she asked, when they had settled into the back of the police car.

Sherlock's face was motionless, "not far from here."

His calm exterior hid his growing fear that Molly had something to do with the case and the murderer. The close proximity of this killing only served to strengthen his concern. After ten minutes of trying to negotiate the London rush hour traffic, they arrived at a deserted factory near the Thames.

* * *

Sherlock stalked past Anderson before he could utter a word and stooped to examine the body, the MO was the same, liquid nitrogen down the throat, face carved off and Molly's approximate height and shape with brown hair but something was bothering Sherlock, something he could not put his finger on. Some inconceivably small detail was off and he did not know what it was. Glancing around the scene again, it hit him.

This was fresh. The other bodies had been murdered around the same time, but this one… This one had not been dead even a day. The murderer was changing his ways or another round of dead bodies lay ahead of them.

"Time of death?"

"About 3 am last night. Discovered by some young kids this morning," said Anderson, who was disturbed by Molly's presence. Sherlock examined the woman once more until he had absorbed all the details there were. But something… someone was missing.

"Molly?"

Molly was in front of the factory crouching and looking at something in the small flowerbed between the factory wall and deserted car park.

"Sherlock come and look at this I think I've found something," she called, looking over her shoulder for him.

"What could you have found," said Anderson, scornfully, "police have been crawling all over this place for two hours already and they didn't find anything so I highly doubt _you_ have found anything of importance."

"Once again your stupidity astounds me Anderson, for my dear Molly may have just found the biggest clue of all," Sherlock murmured as he bent down the examine a single boot print in the mud next to a scalpel which had landed point down in the mud. The scalpel had blood caught in the groves on it that, along with the position it was in, lead Sherlock to the conclusion that it was the murder weapon and that it had been dropped from a standing position on purpose.

"You are getting more and more twisted my friend," he muttered to himself, please that none other than his Molly had found such a crucial lead and that it had not been some imbecile like Anderson.

"Size 10. Well worn. A boot, not a shoe. Medium height for a man. Going fast, so there might have been someone who saw him. Find that someone." Sherlock stretched out his arm imperiously. "Gloves. Give me gloves."

Anderson sighed and pulled off his own, hand them to Sherlock who put them on and carefully picked up the scalpel, peering at it closely with his pocket microscope.

"Surgical style 2. Probably used for autopsy. Left on purpose so the killer is cocky and confident he will get away with the murder, we can also presume the boot print was left on purpose as well. Also the scalpel has got bloodstains not only from last night but dry ones from previous murders. Over confident in his abilities and unclean, that means he obviously isn't a surgeon, more likely a coroner or a pathologist.

"Not you Molly, you are very tidy," he said, not looking away from the blade as he predicted Molly's offence.

"Ok that is all I need," He said several minutes later after picking a few traces out of the print, memorising its exact proportions and studiously ignoring Anderson's complaints as he slipped the now safely packaged scalpel into his pocket. "Oh, and where is Lestrade?"

"Busy, interviewing the kids that found the body back at Scotland Yard," said Anderson tersely, annoyed his protests had fallen on deaf ears.

"We'll go there then. See if he's found out something more than you have here."

Anderson gave up even commenting on that. It had actually been an embarrassment for him not to have seen the obvious clue. Sherlock took off the gloves and threw them back at him, moving towards the police car that had brought them to the factory.

"Scotland Yard?" he asked from the driver. The driver nodded.

Sherlock and Molly sat in the car again, the man even more worried than before, because now he was certain: Molly was definitely on the list.

Molly could feel the waves of worry coming off Sherlock, even though he had not said a word and stared blankly ahead while she tried to make small talk with the sergeant who was driving them. Personally she could not see why Sherlock was so concerned, she was nothing special, even if the detective thought otherwise and she was definitely not the kind of person that would catch the eye of the killer, let alone be the reason they started murdering other people, as, she had the growing suspicion, Sherlock thought. She silently slipped her hand to rest on the back of his in an unspoken offer of comfort; Sherlock looked down at the contact then back up at Molly, smiling a small sad smile of gratitude before looking back out the front window.

* * *

Lestrade was back in his office after listening to the children's story about how they had found the woman in the interview room. They had been quite upset, after all the sight was very disturbing and that had made it more difficult for the detective inspector to get any information from them. An hour of interrogation with no results. Hopefully there would be better news from the crime scene.

Sherlock arrived, Molly with him. The first thing Lestrade noticed was his expression.

"What happened?" he asked.

Sherlock took the evidence bag out of his pocket and handed it over to Lestrade.

"Sherlock! That's evidence. You simply don't put it in your pocket and walk away!"

"Look at it," the detective demanded, ignoring Lestrade's complaints, his voice sombre.

"So what? It is the scalpel the murderer used to cut off our victims faces," Lestrade could not understand why the blade was bothering Sherlock so much.

"He's back," said Sherlock, slamming his hands on Lestrade's desk in and combination of frustration and worry. Suddenly it clicked and Lestrade lent back in his chair cussing violently.

"Are you sure it isn't a copycat?" he uttered hopefully.

"No the blade is the same one, custom made and expensive but designed to look like a standard scalpel and the boot print is the same as the one he always left. I didn't work the case as it took place when I was dead so I only worked it out as we got here, but we have no time to waste if he's back, you know what comes after the print and the scalpel."

Lestrade lent back in his chair, "how do you even know so much about the case, we kept all the details out of the press?"

"I hacked your computer, I was bored, but that is beside the point if the Trickster is back we have a problem."

"Sorry can someone explain what the hell you two are talking about," Molly piped up.

"The Trickster is a murderer from when I was dead and not around to help the police. He popped up every six months or so, different group of victims, different ways of killing them, but always with some body part or other missing, and appearing in a pattern of four killed close together time wise with no clues. Then one a day later, the next victim would be discovered with a certain boot print and scalpel. Finally, the last two victims would appear two days after that, one of whom would fit the pattern and the other one would not, but be a close friend of the person they were discovered with. Unfortunately, with my return the Trickster disappeared so we never caught him."

"Bu… But that's awful!" Molly cried. She slumped into a chair, because her legs suddenly felt weak. Sherlock kneeled next to her and took her hand, eyes fixed tightly on her face, without breaking eye contact.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you understand that, Molly? Not anyone, not ever."

"I'm not worried about that…" She stared at the floor. If she was to be the next victim, which she still didn't believe, that meant that Sherlock was also in danger. He had said a close friend also got killed and she could not be any closer to him than now. She was worried about him.

Molly's fears click into place in Sherlock's mind and he rubbed a comforting hand on her arm, "it will be fine, he will not get either of us, I promise."

He stood up to face Lestrade before continuing, "With the Trickster on our hands, we need to get in action right away, before he finishes this round of murders and gets away. I suggest pulling up all the old case files and I don't suppose you ever found that dog, the Trickster does not seem the type to take animals and a big dog like that might have bitten whoever was attacking its owner so there might be some forensic evidence on it. Oh and how are we doing with the IDs?"

"We have identified all the bodies. All hospital workers, brown hair, brown eyes, a little over 5 ft tall. So obviously they were chosen by these features. No common friends or relatives. Victims were last seen in public places, such as parks, shops and streets. And the dog, Sherlock…" Lestrade looked him seriously "Do you honestly believe that we could find it just like that. Do you even know how many stay dogs there are in London?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically.

"A big dog, a very big dog. Did you see the hair? Black, white, brown. How many dogs do you know like that? This one is obviously a Bernese mountain dog and I highly doubt that there are many of them running freely on the streets of London. So I suggest that you start looking."

Lestrade gave a frustrated sigh knowing he would not be able to argue with Sherlock, "Fine, but Sherlock please tell me you have some idea of why these killings are starting to take place again."

"I have a theory from when I was dead, back then the word on the street was that the Trickster was a killer for hire, and that he would merely use the other deaths to cover up his actual victim, all the clues etc. were just part of his MO. The cases were spread apart because he was pretty much impossible to get a hold of and even if you could he was said to be ridiculously expensive. I never caught him because by the time I found out about each new case he had disappeared into the night, that is what you get for keeping stuff out of the press. When I returned from the dead he disappeared, suggesting that he did not want to pit his wits against mine but now he has returned, which is odd. Also his crime scenes have a more personal feeling to them this time around, so I would say this series of crimes is some sort of personal vendetta, which he is carrying out in the only way he knows."

"Personal vendetta? Well that makes things complicated… We need to find out which one of the victims could have been an acquaintance of the Trickster." Lestrade sighed again. "It's going to be a long day."

Sherlock thought to himself, that if things were not so closely connected to Molly, he would have taken the case as an entertaining challenge and would have been enjoying it thoroughly. He only now understood how wrong that was. He got off on other people's traumas and losses. That was what John had tried to make him see all those years ago. It was wrong.

While Sherlock was having his own personal mini epiphany, Molly was doing some thinking of her own. "Please can I look at all the old case files when you get them," she said tentatively, "I would like to look for any other patterns and try and work out who the actual targets were for each set of murders and who the sponsor was."

"Yes, sure, get a sergeant or someone to help you, we are going to need all the man power we can get if the Trickster is back," sighed Lestrade as he picked up the phone to update the higher ups on this unfortunate turn of events.

Molly left the room and Sherlock sat down, taking his usual thinking pose. Lestrade knew that for at least the next fifteen minutes the great detective would not be of any use, so he followed Molly outside the office, while Sherlock tried to sort things out in his mind palace.

* * *

Lestrade mused to himself about the case and the Trickster. What did they know about him? About him personally? Possibly works in a hospital, a man, size 10 shoes and… And nothing. He was a psychopath, so to predict and prevent his next moves accurately was almost impossible for anyone but Sherlock. They had no certain proof of what kind of a person they were dealing with and the only lead they had was that this set of murders was personal.

And that was the other thing, they should be able to get a reasonable idea of who the next victim might be as these crimes were close to the murderer so he had probably at least met a lot of his victims at some point before. However, Lestrade was worried, even Anderson could see that Sherlock and Molly were now together although it was probably only him that understood the depth of the emotional turnover Sherlock must be dealing with and this was not the type of case where they could afford any muck ups.

**Wolf: *Wiping hands clean on old rag* I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I wonder what's going to happen next and who the murderer will turn out to be.**

**Lilith: *Drags herself from nuclear crater* You shall not defeat me.**

**R&R**


	7. Chapter 7

**Wolf: Mah, I felt bad for taking so long to update the last chapter so here's a little present in the form of an early update.**

**Lilith: *Cough* Suck up *Cough***

**Wolf: *Pulls out canister of liquid nitrogen* Anyway, thanks for all the reviews you've written for the past chapters, I've really enjoyed reading them and hearing your views.**

Molly poured over the old case records, which a young officer had gotten for her on Greg's orders. She tried to pick out all the details that seemed important while filtering out the all the surplus information which would only serve to create confusion and obscure any similarities. She stared at the photographs of the deceased, thinking about who would want to kill them and why. Patterns and motives scrolled themselves through in her mind, trying to make sense. Money? Probably not, because the Trickster's services cost a lot and so were not for people who just wanted an early inheritance. Nevertheless, if it was a huge amount of money… An amount that would pale the sum paid for the murder. Now that would be logical.

Therefore, Molly checked the victims' incomes and testaments, looking for something that the police had maybe missed. However, therein lay the rub because none of these people earned ridiculously large sums of money or stood to inherit it, in fact every single one of them seemed to be average in almost every sense of the word, someone you would never notice walking down the street. Just as she was ready to give up something fell into place in her mind and she called out in surprise, "Sherlock, I think I have something."

"What?" Sherlock strolled over to her from where he had been lying on the couch in Lestrade's office with the door open.

"What if the targets were leading double lives and then the Trickster got hired to take them down when they out lived their usefulness. I know some of the top smuggling rings have the kind of cash that would be needed to pull this feat off. Looking at it, in every group there was at least one person who had recently been on holiday to one of two places or who went there on a regular basis."

"Molly…" he smiled at her "I think that is exactly what's going on. Everything suggests that the older murders were all ordered by the same person or organization. Only illegal organizations use that kind of method to eliminate the people they need out of their way. What illegal groups would use the Trickster to do their dirty work for them though? Not the mafia or any of the other crime syndicates, they would do it themselves. So it must be smugglers and that means some of the victims most likely worked for them at one time or another, which is easy to check… Molly, you are truly wonderful."

Molly blushed at the compliment and ducked her head forward trying to hide behind her hair. "It's nothing, I am sure you would have worked it out quicker if you had been looking at the case files."

"Yes I probably would have but this lot have had almost a decade to work that out and still had not managed to so, I would say you are doing just fine," Sherlock reassured Molly, genuinely impressed and proud. If he was one for displaying, affection in public he would have hugged her but he felt that even his new self, which he was still getting used to, was not capable of such outwardly touchy feely romance.

So he just smiled again.

Lestrade noticed them talking and approached them cautiously, suspicious because of Sherlock's smiling face.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes." Sherlock explained Molly's theory quickly, adding couple of undercover compliments towards Molly and a lot of insults about the police's ineffectiveness with the casual suggestion that Anderson's stupidity was infectious before pointing out the facts in the files that supported Theory.

"Smugglers? Like The Black Lotus Tong? Them again?"

"No, I do not think it is them, they fell apart quite quickly after Moriarty and that jade hairpin business. More likely it is the group that helped tear them down and then proceeded to rise up after them. To be honest you should have stuck with The Black Lotus Tong, The Shio are much more violent and blood thirsty when it comes to personal relations. Although, that said, they are far more sophisticated, no one knows who is in charge and their customer base is much wider and rumoured to include various high ups, who, it is safe to presume, have had every skeleton in their closet recorded before they become a customer. Yes if it is The Shio we are dealing with as well as the Trickster we are royally screwed. Then again there is no guarantee it is them so I suggest we find out who as quickly as possible, I will go and talk to some of my own personal connections and see if anyone knows anything."

Sherlock dragged Molly by her hand and left Scotland Yard, leaving the detective inspector to do his job.

"Personal connections? What do you mean by that?" the woman asked him, almost running to keep up with his long elegant strides, "I didn't know you had so many friends…"

"I wouldn't call them exactly my friends… More like associates… No, that's not the right term, either. My eyes and ears all over the city. The homeless network. I scratch their backs and…"

"… And then disinfect yourself, I hope." Molly finished.

Sherlock let out a light laugh, "not quite, a lot of them are very clean, healthy people who circumstances have not favoured but they are well connected and even if they do not know what is going on they will know of a friend of a friend who does know. It is quite useful really and much faster and more effective than the police."

Molly grinned as they walked off in search of Sherlock's associates, "you really have a way of putting a twist on things," she said as Sherlock hopped over a railing in to an open space, heading towards an elderly woman sitting on a bench while she fed some pigeons.

Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and waited him a little bit further off. She was not sure she wanted to disturb him while he was questioning the old woman, so she just observed them from distance.  
Unexpectedly she felt a tap on her shoulder and with a startled yelp turned around.

"Molly Hooper! How nice to see you today!"

"Ben! What are you doing here?"

Ben Stanley worked as a coroner in St. Barts and saw Molly quite often at work, working with her on numerous projects in the past, the slim man had seen her from across the road and jogged over to say hello and have a quick chat. They got along well although she had not seen him for a few days, due to the weekend and because she had taken Thursday and Friday off work.

"Oh nothing much, I was just buying some groceries," he raised a hand with a plastic bag in it as if to prove a point. "You?"

"Oh you know the same old same old," Molly did not quite want to share her news yet.

"Hmm, great. Hey I was thinking we should meet up sometime soon you know not as a date or anything but just as mates and if you're dating anyone you could bring them, I'd be happy to meet them, I really feel we see each other all the time but don't really know each other."

"Uh, yeah ok, how about tomorrow? We can work out times at work."

"That would be perfect. I'll see you around then." With that Ben walk off before Molly could say bye. Suddenly something made Molly feel uneasy…

Naah… It was probably nothing.

"Who was that?" a voice whispered in her ear. Molly started again.

"Could you please stop doing that!?"

Sherlock straightened himself and apologised but curiosity stood still.

"So who was that man?"

"A colleague. He asked us out for a drink tomorrow."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"Yes. Us."

"Ok, if the case is going well I'll come, what does he do?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Oh he is a coroner, the one I have to explain to why pristine corpses are suddenly damaged corpses after you have been to my morgue." Molly jibed lightly, digging Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock watched the retreating back suspiciously, as far as he could see Ben had size 10 or 11 feet and he was a coroner so probably had experience cutting up cadavers. He decided it was probably jealousy but none the less, if they did go out tomorrow he decided to be on his guard.

Molly caught his attention again by coughing slightly "Ahem! So… Did you hear anything from your… associate? Anything that could help us with the case?"

Sherlock took her hand and started walking down the street.

"Not anything of great importance, but still something to work with. The Shio might have picked up the idea of coded messages from The Black Lotus. The network has seen some unusual graffiti with strange symbols, so we should check it out just in case. Might be that it could lead us somewhere. And then again, maybe not, but it's worth trying. They were also able to tell me that The Shio has extended above the reaches of a simple smuggling organisation and is now a major player on most of the crime fronts but it is important we remember that they a originally smugglers. Smugglers always have the same weakness."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Money. They will do anything for the right price and hate to lose finances."

"So how does that help us?" Molly felt like she was missing something.

"To make the most money The Shio will have their fingers in all the pies, they will know everything that happens everywhere."

"And?"

"You do not stop working for The Shio, they might let you think you have but in reality if they let you go you will probably be dead within a week and your funds will be moved to their bank accounts. If the Trickster stopped killing for them he probably broke some sort of contract which means he will have had to fake his death. Now he's back and I can guarantee that The Shio will know and be very annoyed that he escaped their grasp so they will be looking for him as well."

"Is it good or bad for us?"

"Both. If they find the Trickster, they will kill him. So the case is closed and no more murders on his part but the moment The Shio realises that the police are after Trickster and that the trail will lead to them, we're a threat. Bigger than we are now."

Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled sadly. "We'll be alright."

They reached their destination, which turned out to be an abandoned railway station on the St James's to Westminster line.

"Boringly typical," Sherlock muttered.

"Although it does make sense, I suppose. There is always graffiti in places like this so no one would notice a bit more and lots of people will see it as the trains go past so the message will spread quickly," Molly mused as Sherlock turned to look at her, impressed.

"You are quite right. Now all that is left is for us to find the correct piece of graffiti. It will be quite new, and clearly visible from the tracks," Sherlock told Molly as they began to wind their way through the maze of concrete pillars, all of which were covered in brightly coloured spray paint.

Quite soon, Sherlock stopped in front of some marks, which were painted on the wall with a disturbingly orange colour. He looked at them from every angle possible and measured the distance from the railroad until he was sure that they had found what they had been looking for.

"Is this it?" Molly asked, joining him.

"Yes."

She took out her phone and took some pictures of the wall with it.

"So do you recognize the markings?"

"No, but I know someone who might," with that Sherlock was spinning around, leaving the train station and hailing a cab before Molly could even ask who.

* * *

Sherlock did not talk on their trip to the museum, which was their destination, but Molly was content to sit quietly and stare out the window. She knew Sherlock needed time to rearrange his thoughts in his mind palace and get the case in order.

The facts swirled in the detective's mind, looking for the right place to fit in like a jigsaw puzzle.  
Eleven, years ago The Trickster worked for The Shio and eliminated people who were no longer useful. Eight years ago he stopped, undoubtedly breaking some sort of contract and automatically placing himself on the list of people, which, until then, he had been in charge of taking care of. Why? That was obvious, Sherlock Holmes had returned from the dead and he did not want to be caught.

He had then successfully managed to stay unnoticed for eight years, but now he had returned because of a personal vendetta, risking the vengeance of The Shio.

He murders brown-haired women who work in hospitals. Why? An unrequited love? Possibly.

When they reached the museum, Molly wondered off to look at some of the displays while Sherlock went in search of a certain absentminded curator.

"Sherlock! What on earth are you doing here?"

Michael Weaver, a curator in the National Antiques Museum, was an old classmate of Sherlock's. He had in many cases helped him with some translations and secret symbols, although the great detective himself did not like to admit, that he needed help in any way.

"Michael."

He got straight to the point and showed the expert in ancient texts the pictures on Molly's phone. He had pickpocketed her a moment before they parted, though he was sure she would understand.

"Straightforward as usual," the man laughed.

"This is a matter of uttermost importance. I need to find out what those symbols mean, lives might hang in the balance."

Michael took the phone to look at it and started violently with the shock of horrid recognition.

"I-I'm sorry Sherlock, I don't recognise those symbols at all, they look like garbage to me," he managed to force out.

"Well surly in one of your books-"

"No, no, I'm sorry but I have to get somewhere urgently. If you will excuse me, goodbye," with that the curator practically sprinted away, tripping over his feet as he did so and leaving Sherlock even more confused than before. He sighed sadly, surely Michael could not be mixed up with The Shio but he had definitely been hiding something, that much was obvious

* * *

As Sherlock wondered off to find Molly a sweaty palmed man babbled rapidly into the telephone, devastated at having to betray his friend.

"Master, it is me. He knows, oh he knows, we must stop him before it is too late."

* * *

Molly had found an interesting exhibition and stood before it, reading the display about some old maps, when Sherlock reached her.

"That was fast! Did he know the meaning? The friend of yours?" Molly asked and took Sherlock's hand. They started walking towards the entrance.

"He said he didn't, but I don't believe him. He was acting overly suspicious. This means that we will have to search for the answer ourselves. It shouldn't be too difficult but we will have to be careful, The Shio is on guard."

* * *

As they drove back to Scotland Yard Sherlock thought rapidly, if Michael was a part of The Shio then by now they would probably know that Sherlock was hunting for the Trickster. The question was: did that help or hinder him? The Shio might not want anyone but themselves catching the Trickster for fear of him revealing their secrets, although by now these would be over eight years old, or they might want to let Sherlock reveal the Trickster's new identity for them before swooping in and killing him. Personally Sherlock hoped it was the second option as the first would most likely end up with him bleeding out in a gutter somewhere. Then there was of course the matter that he did not know for definite that these marks were Shio related, they could be hinting at a deeper and darker evil residing in London's criminal community.

**Hmm, so what are these mysterious markings and how will The Shio react now they know the Trickster is back on the prowl?**

**As always constructive criticism is welcome and please tell me what you think is going to happen.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Wolf: And I'm back with another chapter.**

**Lilith: About time. **

**Wolf: Moving on, let's see how Lestrade is doing and thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story so far.**

Lestrade was finally getting somewhere. He had got all the officers he could spare to search out everything the police force knew about The Shio. There had been some recurring symbols that popped up amongst other stuff (which was unfortunately not much) and he had left his best men to decipher them, so far with no results, but he was still waiting for Sherlock's return.

While Lestrade stood by his office window, looking at the street below, the very man of his musings got out of a cab with a slightly frazzled looking Molly in tow. It was odd how quickly and easily they seemed to have slotted together as a team and, Lestrade assumed, lovers. They were a perfect match really, the genius, but socially defunct, detective with his loyal and knowledgeable mortician who understood society so well. Complete opposites that complemented each other's skills and abilities seamlessly.

* * *

Sherlock and Molly had visited Scotland Yard so often in the past days that nobody even bothered to lift their eyes, when they passed by again.

The second that the man and the woman rushed in, Lestrade asked:

"Anything?"

"Markings, I was wondering if your people could help me with them…"

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. Don't make me say that again."

Lestrade smirked before replying, "we've had some markings which are connected to The Shio as well. Although I'm not sure how far we've gotten with them yet. We think we've identified all the Trickster's true targets as well. They all went alone to either Tokyo, Hong Kong or we suspect, Singapore on a regular basis and they all had overseas accounts under various names, which were cleared out shortly after their deaths. Other than that we aren't making much progress, some people higher up the food chain, seem to be putting up some resistance to the idea of the Trickster being back and his ties to The Shio."

Although Lestrade did not say it his implication was clear: he suspected certain members of the police force's hierarchy to be under the influence of The Shio. Sherlock sighed, it seemed the world was against him solving this case before it was too late.

"So it seems that we are being severed from each side and that we will have to manage on our own. The Shio has dug its roots even deeper than I thought. Perhaps you should keep the latest progress of the case from your bosses for as long as you can."

"Are you implying, that…" Lestrade's mounting anger was prevalent but Sherlock interrupted calmly before he could make any more conclusions. "I'm not implying anything."

Molly however did not give up. "So are you saying, that…"

"Nor am I saying anything. Stop here and do not go any further if you don't want us to get into some serious trouble."

Lestrade and Molly let out exasperated noises and exchanged looks of frustration and worry as they realised just how much trouble they could be in if they did what Sherlock said but also that this was the only way to solve the case. Meanwhile, Sherlock swept out the room to the office water cooler and grabbed a cup of water before returning to the Lestrade's office and closing the door behind him as he did so.

"We don't have much time, today is Sunday and the second to last body was found today meaning the final two victims will be killed early Tuesday. We know The Shio is almost definitely hunting The Trickster as well and that they know by now that we are trying to catch him, we do not know how close they are but it is safe to assume they are aware of our every move. We have some markings which we have every reason to believe are connected to The Shio, but we do not know what they mean. We have a basic and crude idea of what sort of profile the Trickster fits, other than that we know nothing."

Lestrade fell into his chair and put his legs on the table. "So what's our plan then? Will deciphering the code even give us anything?"

"They would most likely give us the meeting place or a place where the smugglers could drop off whatever they were smuggling. As if that's useful, right now all leads are important, so we can't leave anything out. What else has the police force got?"

"Nothing really."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down on the sofa, while Molly stood next to the window, supporting her back on the wall.

"I didn't ask what we don't know. I want to see the facts, the evidence, everything you can give me."

"Fine come with me into the main office and you can sit there going over all the evidence while Molly and I go out and grab something to eat," Lestrade said, fed up with Sherlock's tireless pace and longing to put his feet up for five minutes, it was Sunday for crying out loud. Sherlock got up again and walked towards the door, "fine whatever suits you," he said casually, slouching his shoulders as he left Lestrade's office.

"Well I don't know about you, but I think I will just grab something from the cafeteria then help Sherlock," Molly said watching the retreating back of the detective. Lestrade sighed and lent back in his chair, maybe he was just getting old.

* * *

Several hours passed as Sherlock studied the files lying in front of him, looking for clues and trying to see the answer behind the mysterious orange markings. Molly had brought him coffee, but she sensed that he wanted to be alone without distractions and left. Sherlock was glad that she understood, because lately she was taking up so much of his attention and while in her presence he would start to think about other things. Only Molly was capable of distracting him, he thought, smiling softly to himself about the human weakness in him. He actually enjoyed it, but it was time to stop daydreaming and get to work.

Molly put her and a young sergeant who had offered to come in on Sunday's computer skills to the test and scoured the police databases and web looking for the meaning of the markings and people who had died or gone missing about the time of Sherlock's return in the London area and fitted the Trickster's profile. However, it was not until four o'clock when two grinning teenagers came into the room to collect their father before going to the cinema to watch the latest Harry Potter remake that any breakthrough was achieved. While the boy ran straight over to his father excitedly babbling about the try he had scored in rugby that afternoon, the girl walked sedately along, gazing curiously at the computer screens of the officers she past. When she reached the desk which Molly had commandeered she leant over and whispered conspiringly, "aren't you supposed to be working, not working on a pub quiz?"

"What do you mean? I am working," Molly was confused as to what the child was getting at. "I am trying to find out what all these markings mean, some of them seem really familiar but I can't put my finger on it, I don't suppose you recognise any of them?" Molly knew she probably should not show evidence around but this child seemed to know what the symbols were and it could not do any harm.

"Yeah I recognise some of them. That's Tengwar, that's Gallifreyan, and I think that is Klingon," she explained pointing to different symbols.

"What?" Molly was confused.

"Don't you know anything? Lord of the Rings? Doctor Who? Star Trek? No?" the girl asked her and pushed Molly aside to show her. She opened up Google, typed in Tengwar and then pointed to the screen when the results turned up. "See! Tengwar is an artificial language created by J. R. R. Tolkien. In one word - elvish. Circular Gallifreyan is a language used by the Timelords in Doctor Who. And the Klingon language is spoken by Klingons in the science fiction series Star Trek. Honestly… How can you not know that?"

"Uh… wrong generation?" said Molly weakly.

"Nu uh. If anything this is your generation or the generation before you it's like, ancient, Doctor who hasn't been aired in seven years and after the Hobbit come out no one even mentions Lord of the Rings. Now let me see, I don't recognise these other symbols, but I bet you a box of chocolate that one of them is Vulcan."

"Ok, let's see," Molly was amazed how quickly everything began to fall in to place as she pulled up a couple of translation sheets on the internet. It was quite a clever system really, each letter had several different versions so it would be difficult to crack using a word count or computer. Then there was probably going to be some sort of back up code or short hand that only members of the circuit would know.

"I gotta go now, I'll leave you to it. I hope you find what you're looking for," said the girl. Her brother and father were already patiently waiting to leave by the lift as she waved goodbye and left, leaving Molly with the sheets for the alphabets, that they had printed out.

There was no time to waste and Molly started working with the symbols, looking for the meanings. It was harder than it looked, because the symbols were mixed together and the definitions could vary depending on the context, but still she gave it her best effort.

Eventually she finished deciphering the letters and let out a wail of horror as she realised that there was still and underling code to be solved. Unperturbed she called over Sherlock knowing the great detective was their best bet for solving the mystery code. She was correct when after three minutes staring at Molly's scrawled translation Sherlock looked up.

"Got it, Lestrade we've cracked the code."

"What? How? Already?" Lestrade hurried over delighted at finally having a lead.

"You see the reason we couldn't find a set alphabet for our code," Sherlock began, "is that it is in fact lots of different alphabets put together. Fictonal alphabets. It's a genius idea really as nobody outside The Shio would take it seriously, even if they worked out how to read it. Molly… You truly are brilliant!"

"It wasn't my id…" she started to say but was cut off by Lestrade, who insisted on the answer.

"What does it say?"

"Provided we have decoded it correctly, it says, _death knocks at death's door, eight years in waiting dragon's treasure is its reward_. It is a bit cryptic but I would say it basically means they want their current assassins to kill their assassin from eight years ago and there is a very big reward. By putting it in a riddle like verse it sounds like some sort of cult worship mumbo jumbo so anyone who is curious enough to decode it will just brush it off and move on."

Lestrade sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "So basically it gives us nothing. We're empty handed again…"

Sherlock smiled mysteriously and said: "Quite the opposite, Lestrade. We just have to wait patiently for them to come to us now and anyway you have the key to unlock the secret messages of the biggest criminal organization in London. I don't think you should complain."

"But…"

"It's Sunday. Give it a break. Go home, relax. We've got everything we need for now."

Lestrade grunted at the dismissal and strode over to his office to grab his stuff and a few reports that needed finishing before he headed back to his apartment. By now it was just before quarter to five and Molly was also ready to return to Baker Street for an early night, maybe they could swing by a supermarket and buy some food so she could cook their dinner or they could purchase a takeaway of some description. She put her idea to Sherlock, "yeah that sounds great but I want to contact a few other members of the circuit, to get the word out about looking out for these symbols and letting me know if they turn up."

Molly was beginning to feel a little tired, so she proposed with a slight smile: "Why don't you go do your business and I'll go buy some food and then go back to Baker Street. Huh?"

"If that's what you wish."

* * *

Sherlock gave her his keys when they parted outside Scotland Yard and kissed her on the cheek, promising to return soon. Then he turned, coat flaring out behind him, and left. Molly stood still for a few seconds, following the man's path with her eyes before turning around and starting to go in the opposite direction.

She strolled leisurely to the supermarket, which was about five minutes from Scotland Yard and bought some eggs, a loaf of bread and a couple bottles of milk as well as a few other bits and bobs, which she felt any well-stocked kitchen should have. The shop took her about fifteen minutes as the store was big and she had never been in it before so did not know where most things were and had to hunt for them. Rather than hailing a cab, she decided to ride the tube then catch a bus back to Sherlock's flat as it was rush hour and the taxi fare would be expensive.

The bags were a bit heavy, but Molly did not complain even when it meant she dropped the keys a couple of times trying to open the door to 221B and when she finally managed to get the blasted door open, she sighed in relief.

Molly dragged the bags upstairs, took off her coat and did not waste any time in starting to prepare supper. She entered the messy kitchen and opened the fridge, closing it a moment later. She took a deep breath before opening it again and carefully pushing back a plastic bag, whose contents she did not wish to have a full review of, and made room for the stuff she had bought, leaving out only the things she needed to make supper.

She decided to make a simple mushroom and chorizo sausage omelette on toast for their meal as she could not be bothered to make something fancy. She eventually found the frying pan on top of the cabinets with the help of Mrs Hudson, who seemed happy that 221B Baker Street was finally going to have a woman's touch. She quickly broke the eggs into a measuring jug and added a splash of milk, whisking the mixture as she did so. Then while the frying pan was heating up with a little olive oil, she sliced up the sausage and the mushrooms. Smiling as she remembered this particular meal was the first that her mother had ever taught her, she put the everything in the pan, mixing it quickly before leaving it to cook while she hunted down a couple of plates and forks, which she put on to two trays while she toasted the pre-sliced bread. Just as she was serving everything up, she heard Mrs Hudson letting Sherlock in the door downstairs.

He came in, took off his coat and scarf and followed the delicious smell to the kitchen where Molly was waiting for him, smiling.

"Welcome home," she said when Sherlock stepped up to her and put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

He seductively whispered in her ear, nipping at it lightly, "Good to be home."

Sherlock cupped her face with his hand and leaned forward to kiss Molly. The touch of their lips was softer than silk, gentle, yet powerful.

She tutted softly, carefully pushing him away, "eat now, maybe fun later but to be honest I think I just want to sleep tonight we've had a ridiculously busy day and I am exhausted."

Sherlock put on an insulted, pouting face as he released her and stood back, but Molly was not deceived as she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Sometimes she had to remind herself that Sherlock had his childish side and although he had mostly grown out of it with his faked death and when he was living with John he had a tendency to fall back in to old habits as his way of expressing emotions he was not used to.

After eating Molly cleared up before joining Sherlock on the couch whereupon he put his head on her lap, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, his hands in his usual thinking position on the chin while Molly shifted so her back was against the armrest and pulled her legs under herself, and combed her fingers through Sherlock's dark curly hair. She could tell that he enjoyed it and was reminded of a cat so much that she was surprised when he did not start purring.

* * *

When Sherlock finally ended his musings about the case and came back down to Earth again, he realised that Molly had fallen asleep at some point. He carefully lifted her up and carried her to his bedroom where he laid her on the bed.

Sherlock perched lightly on the edge of the bed and smiled fondly down at Molly caressing her face and brushing a loose strand of hair from her peaceful features. He carefully took out her hairclips and tried to take off her jewellery so it was not damaged it by being slept in, he did not try to remove her clothes, for although he knew she would not be happy about having slept in them Sherlock did not want to risk waking her. He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a rather hectic day and that they should all get plenty of rest. With that in mind, he pulled the blanket over Molly and got undressed before slipping in next to her and enjoying the warmth that Molly seemed to radiate.

Nevertheless, even with Molly beside him, Sherlock could not sleep well. He woke up several times during the night and when he did sleep, he saw images, which he was not very fond of and it was not until the early hours of the morning that he was finally able to get some sleep.

* * *

It was this way that Molly found Sherlock the next morning. Messy hair, scrambled blankets and a tiny wrinkle of worry on his face. She did not want to wake him, so she rose quietly from the bed and sneaked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

**Wolf: I hope you liked it and didn't find it too sweet in places but I couldn't resist. What did you think of the code, did you like it?**

**Lilith: Yeah yeah, get to the point.**

**Wolf: *Knocks Lilith unconcious with a frying pan* So this part of the story is going to finish shortly and I want to know if people think I should just continue the story here or if I should make the second part into a sequel. I'm fairly certain about what I'm going to do but I want other people's opinions as well.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wolf: So here we are with the next chapter, read and enjoy.**

Molly sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea and a slice of toast coated thickly in marmalade, looking in to the middle distance as she thought over the previous few days and how she had gone from seeing Sherlock as an unattainable desire that she could never have, to sleeping with him so quickly. In her mind it was a dream come true and even if it all ended today she would not trade it for the world. Then there was the matter of this case, not only was it horrific way that those poor victims were being murdered but Sherlock was convinced that the case was tied inexorably to her. Putting her tea down with a sigh, she went back into Sherlock's bedroom to get ready for work.

She perched on the bed, where Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully and felt a brief sense of melancholy because she did not want to wake him but also want to say bye before she left for work so she kissed him lightly on the cheek and carded her fingers through his hair once more. However as she got up to leave the slumbering man slowly opened his eyes.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she greeted him, a slight smile creeping on to her lips. He was like a puppy, with his hair pointing wildly in every direction and his eyes still heavy from sleep. Suddenly she found herself lying on the bed next to Sherlock with his arms around her.

"Good morning to you, too," he said, placing a small chaste kiss on her lips.

She grinned back at him before pecking him on the nose and sitting up, "much as I would love to spend a lazy morning in bed with you, I have to go to work. So if you will just release me and let me get up…" she laughed as Sherlock tried to pull her back under the sheets, like a sleepy toddler holding on to its favourite soft toy, and buried his head in his pillow

"Stay, don't go to work," came a muffled and sulking voice from the depths of the pillow.

"No, I need to go to work."

"Fine." Molly was begrudgingly released and wormed her way out of the bed while Sherlock went back to sleep again. She smiled tenderly at how innocent he look and in a sudden burst of inspiration took out her phone and snapped a picture of his sleep-tussled head and contented looks to use as bribery at a later date.

She changed into her spare clothes, because she did not want to go out with the ones she had been sleeping in. She grabbed her bag, left a small note on the kitchen table for Sherlock and rushed outside.

When she arrived at St. Barts she was a little late, but fortunately no one noticed. Molly put on her lab coat and started working.

* * *

Sherlock looked up blearily as he heard the door slam before sinking back in to the warm enclose of the pillows, which smelt of Molly. Suddenly his head shot up, Molly, the case, he needed to catch the Trickster before the next victims, who he was becoming more and more certain were himself and Molly. All the evidence pointed to it, the original victims were similar to Molly in looks and all worked in hospitals like her. Also she had known one of the victims, and considering this was a personal kill it was likely the killer knew his all victims so he had probably at least met Molly if she knew one of the victims. The style of dissection was similar to that of a mortician, raising the chances of Molly knowing him. This list went on.

He wrapped a sheet around himself and tottered out of the bedroom. Sherlock Grabbed the not Molly had written off the kitchen table on his way to the living-room where his computer was. Today he planned to do some serious work with background checks on various hospital staff who could fit the profile of the Trickster.

Sitting down in front of his laptop he read the note Molly had left him.

_Meet you at lunch. Love, Molly XXX_

So he had time before going to meet her. Opening his laptop he began his extensive search of hospital records and police files. He tried to prove himself wrong about Ben Stanley, wanting to believe the man was innocent but something inside him told otherwise. He did not like the man but that could be unfounded and Sherlock hoped that he was merely dealing with a serious case of jealousy even though, from what he had observed, Ben fitted the profile of the killer.

Deciding to find out once and for all about Ben Stanley and all the other people at St Bart's who best fitted the profile, three not including Ben, Sherlock got in contact with Lestrade and together they delved in to all their pasts. Although the other three checked out, Ben Stanley had not existed before eight years ago, when he had shown up for a job interview at the hospital and started renting an apartment in the centre of London. Before that, there was no trace of him and none of his credentials checked out. At this point Lestrade had checked to see if he had changed his name, eight years ago, hence his non-existence but that was unfortunately not the case.

Sherlock's suspicions had been confirmed and he…

Molly!  
She was at work!

With him!

Sherlock had never in his life dressed so fast and gotten out of the house so quickly. He hailed a cab and almost shouted the hospital's name to the cabbie, who looked at Sherlock in the rear-view mirror and saw a very nervous and jumpy looking man, with possibly the slightest hint of madness in his eyes. The cabbie did not waste any time any and drove away.

* * *

When they arrived, Sherlock practically threw the money at the cabbie before he ran into the hospital.

He sprinted through the corridors, coat flying behind him as he weaved around the hospital orderlies and patients. He spun around the corner into the morgue and let out a cry as he saw Molly with a 9mm Beretta held to her head and a grinning Ben Stanley behind her, gripping her arm tightly.

"See sweetie I told you your beloved detective would come and all we had to do was wait," he leered. "So the great Sherlock Holmes, here to save his precious bitch. What makes him so special, huh, he ignored your very existence, even though you help him fake his death. I gave you everything, I listened to you and laughed at your jokes, I remembered your birthday and got you Christmas presents but I was still only ever a friend, and not even a close one at that. Then all he has to do is beckon you go running, it's not fair, I loved you but you never even looked at me twice. Why don't you love me?" His voice had become scornful and harsh, each word bitten out and barbed but there was a painful undertone of self-pity and loneliness.

Sherlock assessed the scene before him, looking for anything that might act in his favour.

He stood still, not doing anything that could make the Trickster shoot Molly and evaluated the distance between them. The Trickster was a professional killer, he knew the all moves, so all Sherlock had was luck. He had dealt with situations like this before and he tried to calm himself. Being nervous would not do any good.

He caught Molly's gaze. Tears were running down her face but she made no sound, standing completely motionless. Seeing the silver tracks running down Molly's face gave him strength, he would not let anyone get away with making his beloved Molly cry. Ever. Sherlock looked deeply in her eyes, offering silent support before turning back to the killer with a poker face. It was his turn to play the game he was best at.

"Yes, why indeed? Well for starters I imagine it's because I would never hold a gun to her head. Would I, _Ben_? Or should I call you the Trickster?" Sherlock raised his hands calmly above his head as he shifted his body so he was face on to the pair with his knees slightly bent, the motion of his hands drawing attention away from this subtle shift.

"What does it matter, I've still won, you're not armed and even if you are I'll shoot her before you can even draw, not that you care, you've never cared about her, what is she to you? A toy to play with when you get bored? Everything is a game to the great Sherlock Holmes, why should she be any different?"

"No, you're wrong."

"No, you're wrong. Is that all you can say, I'm Sherlock Holmes and only I can be correct so everyone else _must_ be wrong." The man sneered at Sherlock over Molly's shoulder his face distorting in to a twisted mask of insanity and loathing.

"Molly is everything to me, she matters to me more than the world, more than the game, more than anything, she is everything I am not, she is kind and compassionate, she is beautiful and if you ever hurt her in any way I swear, I will see you rot in hell." Sherlock stared deep into the man's eyes, into his soul and the insanity that resided in it. "But that is not what I meant when I said you were wrong, I meant you wouldn't shoot her. Not because you love her or whatever delusion stands for love in your twisted mind, but because that is not how this works, is it? You have to kill us within the pattern that the Trickster works. Don't you?"

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to. But I think I'll still stick to the plan," he grinned in a perverted way, "makes it much more fun, doesn't it?"

A very small sob passed Molly's lips. "Don't worry, my love. It's only what you deserve," said the Trickster, gripping her tighter and pressing his face into her hair, taking a long breath, while she trembled with disgust.

When it happened, Sherlock almost lost it. He had been dragged to the final limit of his patience. Standing only a few feet away, he wanted nothing more that Molly safe in his arms and the Trickster with a bullet in his head, dead on the floor. His perfectly motionless face twisted in rage.

Trickster slipped his hand up Molly's body, resting it briefly on her breasts all the while grinning at Sherlock as if to prove a point. Then he stepped in closer to Molly and ground against her very slightly before slipping his arm around her neck in a chokehold. Sherlock's blood coursed through his veins, boiling as he saw red, if the choke was properly applied, which he could guarantee it was, Molly only had a few seconds before she lost consciousness.

Suddenly a small evil smirk flashed across Molly's face, so fast Sherlock was not even sure he saw it. She dropped her body down into the strangle and drove her elbow sharply into the repulsive man's solar plexus before stepping back seamlessly and slipping her arm around his waist and gripping his right shoulder with her left hand. Without flinching as the gun went off, hitting a jar on one of the cupboards, Molly rolled the Trickster over her shoulder on to the floor in a perfectly executed hip throw and swiftly disarmed him, stepping back and pointing the gun steadily at his head.

"I don't miss," she said coldly, all signs of fear gone as she walked round towards Sherlock, the gun never wavering.

Before Sherlock could react in any way, the Trickster jumped up and towards them in a moment of insanity. There was a shot and the next moment the killer dropped to the cold concrete floor. Dead. A trickle of blood rolled out of his head and pooled at Molly's shoes, who was still holding the gun with a firm hand.

A moment of silence stretched before the pair for eternity.

Molly removed the magazine and threw the gun away from her in disgust before falling into Sherlock's deep strong hug, which filled her with warmth. Sherlock whispered fiercely in her ear, "I am sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"Oh shut up…" she said, hugging him even more tightly.

"We should probably phone Lestrade and people will have heard the gunshots," Sherlock murmured into her hair, his voice muffled, but neither of them made any move to release the other. Eventually as they heard the approaching footsteps of several police officers, the hospital staff must have phoned the police and been told to stay away, they drew apart and looked at each other, starting to see yet more depth to one another.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Sherlock asked slightly stunned that he had not deduced this clear prowess in fighting that Molly seemed to suddenly possess.

She smiled slightly, guessing his shock, "well a military father always helps and I've always found it important to protect myself and the things I love," she explained just as Lestrade came round the corner.

He walked to the body with a deeply concerned look and said, "It better be him."

Molly quivered a little bit and Sherlock put his arm around her.

"It is. Trust me," she confirmed.

Lestrade looked at the body closely. "Clear shot to the brain. His gun?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered, and explained, what happened there. Lestrade regarded Molly with a totally different look of sheer admiration. He could never have guessed that that fragile woman before him, who was currently clinging to Sherlock, would be able to do something so extraordinary.

The crime scene investigators rushed in and Lestrade signed the couple to exit.

"We will have to get you both to fill in witness statements, so I suppose you should come back to Scotland Yard, unless you want to do that here. Oh, and I'm sorry Molly, but you won't be allowed in your lab until this is all wrapped up as it's a crime scene," Lestrade said as they headed for the exit.

Molly was silent while they drove to Scotland Yard, Sherlock's arm around her as he whispered soothingly to her.

"I guess we won't be going out for that drink after all," she said in a small voice as they pulled in to the car park.

* * *

The day passed in Scotland Yard and when their questioning about the case finally ended was Molly starving. Sherlock had refused to let her go and so it was that they both ended up back in Baker Street although the detective had wanted to take a closer look on the police's new findings about The Shio. Lestrade had informed him about some more markings that had been found and deciphered but there was always tomorrow. Right now Sherlock's priority was Molly's well-being. After all, she was the one who had saved the day. Sherlock had thought that it was impossible to love her any more than he did, but he had been wrong. Today had opened up one of her many sides that he did not know existed. There was definitely more about her than met the eye.

**Wolf: Well that's it for today folks. What did you think? This isn't the end though we will be continuing with the story as Sherlock and Molly try to track down The Shio.**

**R&R**


	10. Chapter 10

***Hides behind sofa in shame and to dodge sharp, potentially lethal flying objects***

**I'm sorry for such a long wait but I've been without my computer and internet access for the past few weeks. Anyway here's a slightly longer chapter to make up for it.**

It was a Saturday, several weeks later, when they got their first real lead on The Shio, Molly had walked in to the kitchen of 221B Baker Street, it had become a routine that she spent the weekend at Sherlock's, to discover Sherlock pouring over his latest collection of The Shio's messages from the homeless network.

"Still trying with those?" she murmured, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she busied herself making a cup of tea.

"Yes. It is very frustrating that Scotland Yard isn't being very cooperative, we could cover far more ground and half the notes wouldn't be scrawled on scraps of paper."

"It's not Lestrade's fault," Molly reminded him, she knew he often equated Lestrade as Scotland Yard. "He was under a lot of pressure from his superiors to close the case completely, so really it's quite nice of him to be helping in his own spare time."

Sherlock only mumbled in return. He then pointed out some of the paper scraps to Molly, "Look at the translations! None of them gives an exact location, but all of them hide a clue to a historical event."

Molly checked them. "This one is World War I, right? "The consequences were catastrophic, when the heir to the throne fell." They sure are dramatic and obvious." She proceeded to finish making her cup of tea, while Sherlock delved deeper into the growing stack of copied clips of code.

"They probably contain a secret code, like the year numbers for example. Or else they wouldn't have made them so easy to guess… World War I started in 1914… 19-14? Could it mean something? A page number and a row?"

"I don't know. What have you worked out so far?"

"That The Shio codes might be easy to crack on the surface but that they have so many layers we could be here for centuries before we find out what they actually mean," Sherlock replied sulkily.

"Yes but what do we actually know about them as a group?"

"They are top class smugglers who ship priceless goods around the world, particularly goods from the orient. The people the Trickster killed, all brought in goods from Hong Kong, Tokyo and possibly Singapore suggesting these are their main trading bases. They have clients at the very top of society, people who are supposed to be respectable, and a little black book equivalent, which has dirt on everyone they need to control or keep in line. It would seem their network is continuously spreading out into other criminal activities with different fronts for each craft but all of them are controlled by a single individual or small group of people at the top."

Molly took her cup and sat down next to him. "Basically… Take down the top and everything falls to pieces. That's good, isn't it?"

Sherlock shook his head and leaned back on his chair. "It's much more complicated than that," he said, "the centre is literally the centre of the organization. You have to get through the layers first, so you could reach the heart. And for all we know they can be anywhere in the world leading this business. Layers and layers of information and all we've got is the markings, whose full meaning we still don't know because we don't have the key. There must be a book or something that they are using…"

Molly looked again his notes. "If your theory about the year numbers is right, I would suggest that they're using an atlas maybe. Because the number would give us a page and a row, not a specific word…"

"Yes but then you have a whole row of possible options and the code would be limited as you could only go up to page 20. No… wait a minute, Molly you are a genius, they are map references, 19 across 14 up, they must be the locations of drop off and pick up points," Sherlock cried, elated at finally cracking another layer to the code.

"Ah, Molly! You. Are. Brilliant!" He jumped up and hurried to his bookshelf.

A map of London, obviously, since the dead were all from here… Ahaa!" He pulled out the right book, which was a big world atlas. He put it on the table and started browsing through the pages, mumbling to himself: "World's cities… New York… Berlin… Stockholm… London!"

Molly peeked over his shoulder, as the detective counted 19 across and 14 up.

"Of course…" he said, letting his finger rest on the place that the code pointed to.

"Where?" asked Molly, peering over Sherlock's shoulder.

"The only place to go in London if you have antique goods to sell, Portobello Road. Over a thousand dealers and the world's largest antiques market, it sells every kind of antique and collectible why didn't I think of it? It has the most extensive selection of antiques in Britain it is only logical that a couple of them are fronts for smugglers."

"But Portobello Road is supposed to be respectable."

"And indeed most of it will be my dear Molly but where there's money to be made there is always something untoward going on nearby. The question is which dealer is the front?"

Molly smiled at him and said, "as soon as I finish my cuppa, we can go check it out. Alright?"

"Then hurry up. We haven't got the whole day to waste."

In a few sips she was ready to go. They took their coats and left the house. In the cab on their way to Portobello Road they held hands as usual. Sherlock had been overly protective about Molly after the event with the Trickster, but Molly did not mind. He was not invading her personal space, he just wanted to be as close as he could be to her and she was all in for that. They dedicated their weekends fully to each other.

* * *

When they got out of the taxi at Portobello Road, the bright colours of the buildings and the thriving bustle of hundreds of shoppers, peering into shop fronts, browsing the numerous displays in front of various shops or just passing through immediately overwhelmed Molly and Sherlock. There were market stalls selling a huge range of products, mostly antiques and bric-a-brac in this section of the market. There were worn ancient and fragile objects from thousands of years ago sitting right next to brightly coloured retro objects from the 1960's and collectables that all looked the same to the untrained eye but were complete opposites to those who knew better. Molly had been to the Portobello Road markets on several occasions before but she had mostly shopped for food, accessories and clothes from the fashion, second hand stuff and food areas so the antique market was enthralling to her and despite Sherlock's impatience, she spent a little time browsing some of the hundreds of stalls.

"Molly!" He whined impatiently.

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

She found herself admiring old watches and dishes and many more wonderful things, which her feminine instincts of beauty told her to buy but she wasn't here for that and was reminded of the purpose of her presence in Portobello Road by Sherlock. She promised herself that she would return some other Saturday and spare the detective from boredom now.

She turned back to him and grabbed his hand. Just when he was about to comment, he stopped.

"Is it only me or are the markings there are exactly what we are looking for?"

"Indeed I believe they are," she said subtly looking in the direction that Sherlock was pointing, while pretending to admire a Chinese vase.

"Well that was a lot easier than expected," said Sherlock as he mentally began to translate the garish orange paint, "unless of course someone is toying with us."

A little time passed.

"Yes. I think that is the place. No mistake," Sherlock said pulling Molly towards a little shop, on which the orange marking was.

"What does it say?"

He smiled. "World War I."

She giggled and stated, "They are pretty dramatic. Might as well say "We are here" in capital letters."

"Well they never expected that someone would crack their code, Molly. We can't blame them for being stupid, although they are."

"Just because you are a genius doesn't mean us lowly mortals have to be," Molly reminded him clutching his hand and grinning up at him as she swayed into him pushing him off balance.

"It was you that cracked the first part of the code," Sherlock told her. Although he felt slightly restricted with Molly clinging to him he did not push her off, realising that after the Trickster fiasco, she was still slightly jumpy and was holding on to him as a way to reassure herself.

"Nah… if it wasn't for that girl we never would have cracked it. I guess we are getting old, moving on in life and losing touch with what younger people find cool," she said her voice taking on a somewhat melancholy tone towards the end.

"Really, Molly? Do you think you could watch any more science fiction?" he laughed.

"Not that," she pouted, "I feel like there is always something that we're missing out on, going on all around us while we are completely unaware of its presence."

"Yes, I think I can see your point, but maybe the fact that we're being watched is…" Sherlock felt Molly's grip tighten a little. "Don't worry. They haven't approached us yet, so don't I think they will attack or cause us any trouble. No! Don't look!" Molly had started to look around, but quickly returned her gaze to Sherlock.

"Are you sure we should check the place closer? Because right now it doesn't sound like such a good idea after all…"

"It's this or come back tonight and break in," Sherlock felt a shiver run through Molly, "and I don't think that would be a good idea as the police aren't really on our side in this matter." He smiled down at Molly reassuringly, "I mean what's the worst that can happen, it's not as if I don't know what you are still carrying around in that deceptively innocent bag of yours," Sherlock reminded her rubbing absently at his hand lost briefly in a memory

Two weekends ago, Sherlock had slipped his hand into Molly's bag to try to find her keys, at her request and cut his finger open on a small blade which was tucked discreetly in one of the pockets and which the sheath had come off. The bag had also contained, to his astonishment, pepper spray and a pair of knuckle-dusters. In fact Molly seem to be in possession of an awfully large collection of hiding places all containing things which he would never expect the innocent Molly to own. It seemed she was better at hiding her true nature than he would ever have guessed, although Molly admitted that she had never used many of the things around her apartment. The majority had been gifts from a father who wanted his daughter to be safe, things she knew how to use with a brutal efficiency if need be but which she would never dream of using. Molly had even admitted to him as she glued his finger up in her flat that she had not carried these things around until after the Trickster.

She blushed remembering the incident. "Ok. Let's go then."

They ignored the stalkers and stepped into the small shop. It was orient themed and had a quaint old fashioned air about it. The atmosphere, heavy with incense brought to mind memories from the case with the Black Lotus. Sherlock could not help noticing the similarities. The markings, the methods and now even a little shop with an old lady.

"Have you two brought your Aunty Lin a gift or are you here to purchase," she wheezed, shuffling around the counter as she made small gestures, first at Molly's bag and then around the room.

"We are here to browse," said Sherlock, immediately adopting the persona of a keen antiques dealer, out for the day with his partner. "A friend of mine said you had some excellent pieces so I decided to come and look for myself," he explained as he moved over to a shelf, Molly trailing behind, and examined a tall, green vase, "this is Tang Dynasty if I am not mistaken and in fine condition to, how did you come by it."

"But you know exactly where it comes from. Do you not? Sherlock Holmes," said a chillingly smooth voice from the back of the store.

Molly and Sherlock both turned their heads in the direction of the voice. The speaker was a tall slim woman with a black matching outfit and a crimson lipstick colour. Molly felt a sudden strike of jealousy, seeing Sherlock's eyes widen a bit.

"Of course." Sherlock was back to his normal confident persona in an instant.

The woman laughed coldly, making Molly dislike her even more. She stared at her, but she was only looking at Sherlock and Sherlock was only looking at her. Molly could see from his look, thank god, that he was merely deducing this serpent like woman.

First, the underwear, there were no visible panty lines or bulges and the way her breasts sat in the blouse suggested a push up bra, so a desire to look smart, sexy and efficient but also self-doubt about certain aspects herself, subconsciously made up for in other areas. The blouse was pure silk and the skirt and jacket tailored, plenty of money but the minimal jewellery and hair pulled back in a bun and dyed a darker colour, judging by the roots, signified a sense of severity and strictness. The makeup reminded him briefly of the Irene Adler, the same shade of lipstick and nail polish, a seductress, master seductress judging by the skill with which the makeup was applied. High heels impractical, new and clean so probably arrived in a car, does not walk around much, an office job type, also a desire to always be fashionable and up to date with the latest trends. Slight traces of long, black fur on skirt, so a black longhaired cat, which was doted upon if the fur on the left sleeve was any indication. The indents on the right hand show she was right handed and that she was stroking her cat with her left hand while working with her right. Unarmed and currently no threat on her own, he was more concerned about the two guards which had studiously positioned themselves outside the door while pretending to study a tea set.

He also noticed the change in Molly's behaviour. She had moved a little closer, so she probably saw the men, too.

The woman with her glinting, too white grin started talking again, " _the_ famous Sherlock Holmes. How flattered we are of your attention. May I ask why have you decided to come sneaking in here?"

Sherlock had switched to his default full detective mode and could not care less. "Why shouldn't I? The signs of your existence are everywhere. Why would I miss a chance to entertain myself?" He was cold and hard.

The women smiled cruelly, her scarlet mouth almost twisting into a snarl, "you see some of my associates are starting to get rather tired of your antics. They didn't mind while you weren't doing any damage but now some of our top clients are starting to get uncomfortable with your prying. So something needs to be done about you and your pet," she nodded her head in the direction of Molly, "before you completely destroy our trade." Another gesture of those perfectly manicured talons and the two men came in from outside, changing the open sign to closed as they did so. They grabbed hold of Molly and tore her from Sherlock, hitting her in the face so she stood subdued, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. When she looked up at Sherlock he was pleased to see an ice cold flame fuelled with desire for revenge burning in her eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you, neither of your goons are armed," he said to the woman but never breaking eye contact with Molly. He had to buy some time so she could recover from the hit to the head before they ran.

Sherlock nodded to Molly. He moved quickly and swung a right hook at the man closest to him, knocking him down. Then he twisted himself so that he had a clear hit with his knee to the other man's stomach. When the man was on his knees, he used his elbow to knock him unconscious. All his strokes were perfectly set, so the falling bodies did not smash any of the items that were on display.

It all happened in a couple of seconds, leaving the woman with no time to react before Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand and ran out of the store, on to the street and away from the deceptively innocent shop.

* * *

He hailed the first cab he saw when they reached the edge of the market and dived into the back seat, dragging Molly in after him, "Molly give him your address, I need to phone Lestrade," he ordered.

"Hi, Lestrade… No I haven't killed anyone… No I don't need you to cover for me… I want you to arrest someone… Yes you heard me I want you to arrest someone, now there is no time to waste. The address is…" Molly tune out the rest of the conversation as she gave the cabby directions and decided which of her father's gifts she would need with a calm, clinical and frighteningly cold aura. Another point was that neither of their homes were likely to be safe now so they would need to disappear somewhere where there was no chance of being traced. They would also need to dump their phones and check that no one had placed any trackers on them, Molly's mind became stony and calculating as she planned the best way to keep them alive. Sherlock would have a plan, she had no doubt.

She pulled out a pack of napkins from her pocket and wiped the blood trail off her chin. She saw the cabbie giving her weird looks from the rear-view mirror, but it was none of his business and he did not ask anything.

Sherlock finished the phone call, sighing and pulled Molly into his chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" he whispered to her ear.

"Leave it. It was not your fault."

He looked deeply in her eyes and said: "Yes, it was, Molly. I made you go there. If we had followed your advice, none of this would have happened…"

"I said stop it. Blaming yourself isn't helping either of us," she said, placing her index finger on his lips to silence him.

"Very well," Sherlock finally consented without breaking eye contact with Molly, although it was clear to both of them that he still blamed himself.

"The real issue is what are we going to do now, both our houses will be being watched and I don't particularly fancy facing and assassin in my pyjamas."

"As always Molly you read my mind."

"We should probably let John know what is going on as well, just in case they decide to go after him to use him and Mary as leverage."

"Yes I guess you're right, I had hoped to keep John and Mary out of this but I think The Shio will sink to such cowardly behaviour if it means they manage to catch us."

"So we'll go to my flat and you can phone them and anyone else you feel necessary while I grab my kit, then what?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment and then his eyes cleared. "I have a place that we can go to."

Molly looked surprised. "Where would that be?"

He looked at the cabbie suspiciously for a second and sent a look to Molly that told her to be patient. The driver had been listening to their talk, trying to make sense in it, but Sherlock had noticed, the pair fell in to silence until they reached Molly's apartment and Sherlock paid the cabbie. The moment Sherlock joined her on her doorstep, she asked again: "Where?"

"Mycroft's old house."

**So what do you think? Our dear Molly sure is full of surprises isn't she? As for Sherlock, well I just hope he isn't too OOC.**

**R&R for imaginary chocolate chip cookies.**

**Ja ne**


	11. Chapter 11

***rummages though box of excuses* I have no excuses for such a late update other than losing track of time but I hope you'll enjoy this chapter anyway**.

_Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment and then his eyes cleared. "I have a place that we can go to."_

_Molly looked surprised. "Where would that be?"_

_He looked at the cabbie suspiciously for a second and sent a look to Molly that told her to be patient. The driver had been listening to their talk, trying to make sense in it, but Sherlock had noticed, the pair fell in to silence until they reached Molly's apartment and Sherlock paid the cabbie. The moment Sherlock joined her on her doorstep, she asked again: "Where?"_

_"Mycroft's old house."_

* * *

Molly looked over at Sherlock quizzically, to see his face was set in stony determination. "I thought they sold the house after he… you know," Molly let her voice trail off, she knew Sherlock had not had the best of relationships with his brother when he was alive but since Mycroft's suicide she did not know how Sherlock felt about the matter and if he regretted their enmity.

"Yes they did sell one of his houses, the one where he lived most the time, when he died but he had a second one under a false name which he kept in case of emergencies or so he said anyway. I think he just had it in case he needed to hide me from the cops, not that he ever needed it," throughout his explanation, Sherlock kept his face sculpted into a perfectly blank mask and gazed straight ahead, so Molly knowing he did not want to pursue the topic let it drop.

Sherlock shook his mind out of past reminisces and they rushed into the building and up to Molly's flat. Once there Molly retreated into her bedroom to pack, while Sherlock phoned John, he stood in the living-room positioning himself so he could peer out of the window and watch the street below without being seen.

"Hello."

"John. You might be in danger."

"… What happened?" His usually warm tone reverted into a calm and strict military voice, so that anyone could tell Dr John Watson, GP was gone and the old army doctor who had not only healed but also killed had resurfaced.

"I have a little trouble with some bigger power, so I suggest you go on a vacation a little bit. Just in case."

"Sherlock I have a family and job now I can't just up sticks and leave," John hissed into the phone, "besides you haven't exactly given me any warning, do you know how expensive last minute flights and ferry trips are?"

"Yes I know that is why I would never normally bring you into this and wouldn't let you help with the case when you came down three weeks ago, but The Shio will stop at nothing to get to me and since Molly and I are about to disappear they are going to go for my nearest associates, that's you."

"OK, fine we'll go camping in Scotland or something," said a disgruntled John. Sherlock knew he would do nothing of the sought but was instead keeping his true plans a secret in case the line was tapped, "and you better sort Mrs Hudson out, send her on that holiday to the Bahamas you are always promising to pay for or something."

Sherlock thanked Molly in his head, because she had made a comment on his memory about how never seemed to remember to carry out his promises a few weeks ago and it had resulted in him buying Mrs Hudson tickets to prove Molly wrong so that Mrs Hudson was luckily now on the other side of the Atlantic.

"Already done."

"Well then… Be safe and take care of Molly. If anything happens to you two… I swear… I'm going to hunt you down and personally make sure that the rest of your life is a living hell… Got it?"

"Got it," Sherlock said and hesitated a little before adding, "Take care."

"I will," said John his voice softening slightly before he hung up just as Molly came into the room, hair tied smartly back in a high pony tail and wearing a simple but practical outfit that complemented her figure nicely with a black canvas duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Sherlock let his eyes slide over her appreciatively while she bustled around the room.

"I've just got a couple more things that I want to pack, and then we can go. As a matter of interest what do you think the best way to travel is, cabbies could be on The Shio's pay roll and trains always have lots of CCTV all around the stations, also it is difficult to run if we get cornered on one."

"First we go to a man I know's house. He owes me a favour, so we'll borrow his car. He's got no reason to object."

Molly rearranged random objects around the room, putting a few bits and bobs in her bag and pulled on the curtains, while Sherlock stood out of the way patiently.

"Who is he?"

"A former client I helped. Accused of drug dealing. I found proof, that he wasn't a drug dealer, but just a man who happened to be in the wrong place in the wrong time."

"Can we trust him?"

"Hopefully."

"Where does he live?"

"Not too far from Canary Wharf, we'll take the bus, I think that's safest, especially if we switch which route we're on a couple of times."

Sherlock lead the way out of the building, looking around and taking note of everyone nearby while Molly locked up, putting the keys safely in her pocket before picking up her duffle bag and joining him as they walked to the bus stop at the end of her road.

* * *

Daniel Bates was sitting behind his laptop, when the doorbell rang. The man walked to the hallway intercom and was startled, when he heard a familiarly deep resonating voice talking to him through the speaker. With no hesitation, Bates ran downstairs, grabbing his car keys on the way.

"Sherlock!" he shouted, when he opened the front door to the building and found the detective waiting there with a woman, who was unknown to him.

"Bates," Sherlock greeted, "did you bring the keys?"

"For you, Sherlock, anything! The car is in the parking lot. The only black car in the A section. You'll find it."

"Thank you, Bates. I'll bring it back safely, but I don't know when."

"No hurry! After what you did for me… It's the least I can do in return."

The beaming man shook Sherlock's hand enthusiastically while offer the pair tea or coffee and maybe some biscuits, if they wanted any, but the pair were forced to turn him down as they did not want The Shio to catch up to them and hurt anyone, especially as taking the car could be considered a risk.

* * *

They found the car after a five-minute hunt around the car park. It was a small black Toyota Aygo, much to Sherlock's pleasure as it would slip through the traffic easily and remain discreet and undistinguishable from all the other cars on the road.

When they were in the car, Molly said, "You know… I didn't even know you could drive a car."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course I can. Is this enough proof to you?" He waved at the dashboard and the wheel before him.

She smiled. "Where is this house exactly? Do we have to be on the road long?"

He gazed out of the windscreen while answering. "It's almost halfway between here and Ashford. Luckily it isn't rush hour, so we should get out of London quite fast. It's a place that you'll like, close to nature."

Molly hummed her approval before turning to gaze out the window, Large sunglasses and a sunhat covering her face and hiding it from CCTV and any people who had be alerted to look out for them. Sherlock wore similar attire with aviators and a baseball cap shielding him from traffic cameras.

"When we get out of London we should switch to roads which aren't as heavily monitored, so we are harder to track, and get enough food and cash to last us a while before doubling back to the house on country lanes," Molly said thoughtfully as they passed yet another surveillance camera, or in her mind, another chance of The Shio finding them.

* * *

After a long journey, with a big loop off the main route to go to a shop and take out cash a risk Sherlock had deemed it necessary to take, they arrived. The house was in Looms Wood to the north of Aylesford and was a beautiful old-fashioned house with creepers climbing up the outer walls and a slightly messy, untamed garden.

"It has been a long time since anyone has taken care of it. Mycroft took the responsibility of keeping it. It was our father's, a family heritage. Mycroft sold it to himself under the name of Winsor Scott so he could use it as a safe house without people being able to connect the house to him," Sherlock explained with a seemingly disinterested face.

Molly stood breathless with her mouth open, staring up at the beautiful house before her.

"It's amazing," she breathed, walking through the garden and spinning around to take in as much of her surroundings as possible. The house was situated in a clearing in the woods with the trees acting as a shield from prying eyes and offered the pair a sense of privacy as well as creating a feeling of freedom that filled Molly up until she was bursting. After all this was over she promised herself that she would drag Sherlock down here on odd weekends when they did not have a case and do the place up or go for long walks in the woods. She grinned at the thought of Sherlock in overalls standing at the top of a ladder while he tried unsuccessfully to paint a wall.

Meanwhile, Sherlock leant against the porch wall, twirling the keys in his long delicate fingers and smiling contentedly at the joy radiating from Molly, she had not been this carefree since the Trickster episode and he was happy that the house made her cheerful even if he felt no particular attachment to it.

"Want to see the inside?" he asked.

"Of course!"

Sherlock stepped up to the brown wooden door and opened it with the key he kept on the same key ring as his flat keys, so it would be nearby in case of emergencies, like today. The door opened with a slight creak. Molly was overly excited to see the house from the inside too, so she grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him in only to stop suddenly in the hallway.

It was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Flowered tapestry and wallpaper with light colours adorned the walls creating a sense of space and openness while simple wooden furniture, either white or light brown lent the place a homely feel. Everything was a bit dusty, but in Molly's opinion that was not a problem. She could clean it.

Directly ahead of her was a beautiful wooden staircase with elaborately carved banisters, which had begun to wear smooth from generations of use. It sloped majestically down from the first floor landing coming to a stop a few meters in front of the door but the luxurious deep red carpet at the centre of the stairs ran on to the door where it finished with an inlaid doormat. The rest of the room was floored with light brown floorboards, which blended pleasantly with the furniture and helped to enlarge the feeling of the room. Molly walked to the centre of the hall and tried to pull the dust sheet off the chandelier but was unable to reach, seeing what she was trying to do Sherlock came up behind Molly and gripped her tightly around the waist before carefully picking her up so the dust sheet was within reach. She pulled it off too quickly so that as it fell it dumped its dusty load on the pair of them. Laughing while simultaneously coughing due to the dust Sherlock gently placed a very affronted looking Molly on the ground and tried, unsuccessfully, to pat the dust out of her hair.

"I think the rest of the tour can wait, right now we need a shower," he said guiding her up the stairs toward the bathroom.

The top floor seemed to have four rooms. Two at one end of the hallway, one at the other end with the final one being opposite the top of the stairs. Sherlock opened the door on the right and pulled Molly in.

The room was a big bedroom. On the opposite wall to the door there was a huge window overlooking the garden to their right was a big four-poster bed. Unlike the hall this room did not have much in the way of flower patterns, but was decorated with light blues and greens. Where the hall was more like a garden, the bedroom, in Molly's mind felt like a calm beach surrounded by an old forest.

"The bathroom is there," said Sherlock, pointing to the second door in the room.

Molly thanked him before placing her bag on the floor, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the bathroom. As she was getting undressed she called through to Sherlock, "do you want to get us some food while I shower, then we can switch."

Sherlock agreed with her before unpacking a few bits and bobs which he knew Molly would probably want when she finished her shower and placed a couple of towels from the linen closet just inside the bathroom door for her. Next, he headed back outside to fetch the food they had brought on their way down and took it in to the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him.

While in the kitchen, he thought about what to do next.

**Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Well here's the next update, finally, sorry about the long wait but school as a way of taking up all your spare time. I'd just like to say a huge thanks from AveP and myself to evryone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story.**

**I apologise most insinserely for the sweetness of this chapter and any OOCness.**

_Molly thanked him before placing her bag on the floor, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the bathroom. As she was getting undressed she called through to Sherlock, "do you want to get us some food while I shower, then we can switch."_

_Sherlock agreed with her before unpacking a few bits and bobs which he knew Molly would probably want when she finished her shower and placed a couple of towels from the linen closet just inside the bathroom door for her. Next, he headed back outside to fetch the food they had brought on their way down and took it in to the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him._

_While in the kitchen, he thought about what to do next._

* * *

Lestrade had phoned Sherlock during the drive to tell him that there was no one at the shop that Sherlock had told him to raid. However, although a lot of stuff had clearly been removed in a hurry, there had still been a lot of smuggled goods to work with and Scotland Yard had officially opened The Shio case. Sherlock hoped that the Yard could manage with the case on their own, because he did not want to involve Molly any deeper in this dirty game of cat and mouse but he always doubted the police force with all its corruptions no matter how much he had come to trust Lestrade over the past years.

He and Molly would stay here in Looms Wood as long as possible, waiting for this to be over or at the very least for the Shio to redirect their gaze towards the police force rather than at them, because at the moment his return would be too dangerous. So, with Lestrade final update,e he had switched off their mobiles and cut off all their connections to the outside world. They had to manage on their own for now, out of sight and more importantly out of mind.

With all these thoughts buzzing through his head, Sherlock carefully made them some simple tuna sandwiches with a mug of tea each and a bag of Kettle Chips to share. He placed these on the table and headed upstairs to see how Molly was getting on. As he reached the upstairs landing, Molly was just emerging from the bathroom, fully dressed with a fluffy towel wrapped around her head to stop her wet hair dripping on her dry clothes.

"Lunch is ready," he told her smiling as she crossed the room to join him.

"Hmm, it's quite a late lunch isn't it, more like tea in fact," Molly pointed out, glancing at her watch as they head back downstairs, shoulders lightly brushing against one another. They entered the kitchen together, Sherlock holding the door open for Molly, only to see a large black cat happily tucking in to their sandwiches.

"Perfect," Sherlock snarled and pulled the cat from the table, grabbing it by the scruff of its neck.

"Sherlock!" Molly quickly took the cat from him and held the hissing creature in her arms, combing through its fur while making a soothing crooning noise and trying to calm it. Soon the cat relaxed and started licking Molly's hand eliciting a gentle smile from her. Sherlock just stood opposite Molly, looking at it suspiciously.

"It likes you," stated Sherlock dryly, checking to see if the sandwiches were still edible.

Molly ignored Sherlock and began to walk around the kitchen, holding the cat and talking to it in the way that is usually reserved for when talking to little children.

"Don't mind the grumpy Sherlock, it's not his fault he's a big sour puss. Anyone could have seen the delicious looking tuna sandwiches through the open window and mistakenly think they had been specially left out for them as a treat," she crooned to the steadily purring cat, while Sherlock looked on sourly, jealous of the cat who looked so smug as Molly fed it bits of tuna from the half empty can Sherlock had left on the side.

"Can we keep it," Molly asked grinning over the cats head like a small child at Sherlock. "I never got another cat after Toby died, but this one is just so cute and he likes me. See."

She lightly kissed the cat's nose and in return, it pulled its little pink tongue over her nose. Sherlock let out a big sigh and sat down behind the kitchen table.

"Do what you want. I couldn't care less about that mewling nuisance."

"Don't say that, Sherlock. Cats are very intelligent and proud and I must say I see some resemblance…"

"Are you comparing me to a feline?"

She laughed. "Yes, yes I am. What should we name him?"

"It's a him?"

"Yes, it's a him. Sherlock no. 2?"

Sherlock grunted sulkily in response and glared at the cat, "What if it already has an owner?" He suggested hopefully.

"Well you're the detective, deduce," Molly said dumping the cat in Sherlock's lap whereupon he mewled disdainfully and turned his back on Sherlock and raised his tail, showing Sherlock his bum before leaping on to the counter.

"Well it doesn't have a collar and although its fur is quite well cared for."

"He not it and cats are very clean animals, he can groom his own fur."

"_He_ does seem slightly moth eaten, and the tears in his ears suggest he's been in a few fights. Also he hasn't been neutered, Which in this area means he is probably a stray."

"Well that's settled then, we'll keep him but we leave the window open just in case he has another owner to go to. That just leaves the question of what to call him. Now, suggestions," she demanded a look that brooked no argument on her face.

"Molly… Does it have to have a name?… It's just a cat…" He lifted his one eyebrow.

But Molly, who could as always see through Sherlock's moods, saw something else behind his hatred towards the cat with those words. So she left the cat alone for a second and sat on the man's lap, placing her arms around his neck.

"What is it?" she asked.

Sherlock sighed deeply and looked into her worried deep brown eyes. "You know… I'm afraid I'll die of boredom in here…" he answered honestly.

Molly put her forehead against his and smiled. She had had the same thought on their drive out Looms Wood. "Do you really think I would let you do that?"

"No, but…" Molly silenced him with a single finger on his perfectly formed cupid bow lips.

"Then what's the problem?"

Sherlock smiled back. Oh, she was good! He lifted his hand and cupped her face, kissing her lips lovingly. If he was to be alone with only her for his company, of course he should have known he would not be bored.

Molly pulled back slightly and place a soft peck on Sherlock's nose before getting off him and dragging him out of his chair, "but first you have to show me around the rest of the house and maybe we can go into the wood for a bit," she told him as she scooped up the protesting cat and stroked it softly behind the ears.

"Very well," Sherlock walked back into the hallway, Molly following in his wake. He crossed straight over the hallway and opened the door opposite, revealing a large, spacious living room with a big cushy settee and a couple of armchairs, around a large fire place with a TV in the corner next to it. This room had a warm cosy atmosphere to it, heightened by the rustic tones and relatively low ceiling, which had visible supporting beams like in the kitchen.

"Oh! This is nice!" Molly said, touching the walls, carefully holding the cat in one arm. Then her eyes spotted something on the mantelpiece.

"Are those…?" She walked closer.

"I told you it was a family house."

On the mantelpiece there were pictures of a family. A blond mother and a father with dark brown hair and two serious looking boys, both with dark curly hair like their father's.

"We used to stay here during summers. Mother, Father, Mycroft and I."

"You are so cute," Molly squealed, placing the cat on a chair so she could grab a photo off the mantelpiece and look at it closer. "Wow you really look like your parents," she said as she sat down to scrutinise the photo while grinning broadly, much to Sherlock's discomfort. He scuffed his feet and glared at the ground, if he had known Mycroft had left those stupid photos up he would have taken them down before he did anything else.

"Who took this photo?" Molly asked waving the one she was holding at him, it was one of the whole family in front of the house, smiling broadly at the camera, Sherlock looked to be about six and Mycroft ten. Sherlock remember the day vividly, it was just before they drove back up to London, just before that fateful crash, Sherlock shuddered inwardly at the memory.

"The camera was one a timer," he told her tightly as she continued to look at the other photos on the mantelpiece.

"Would you like to see the rest of the house, too?" Sherlock asked impatiently after some time.

Molly put down the last picture and nodded. The cat had wondered off somewhere, so she grabbed his hand and let him lead the way.

On the ground floor there was the kitchen, with a pantry and the living-room as well as a modest study and toilet. Upstairs, as Sherlock explained, were the bedrooms. The first bedroom, whose bathroom Molly had used, was Sherlock's parents' old room and the first door on the left was another bathroom while the second was Mycroft's room.

Sherlock opened the door, to let Molly peek inside for a second, but the cat slipped in between their legs and jumped on the big bed.

"He seems to like it in here. Hmm, this is the only room Mycroft has redecorated. He only stayed here when he had to."

Sherlock seemed to slipped into a brooding and somewhat melancholy mind set before Molly tugged lightly on his hand to get his attention, "so where did you sleep?" she asked mildly.

"Oh I slept in here," Sherlock told Molly as he guided her across the landing to the last door opposite the top of the stairs before opening it. It was like stepping back in time, there was a single bed pushed up against the wall with a blue Paddington Bear duvet and a small chest of draws with a few childish drawings and a half-finished homemade science project on it. The walls were a pleasant cream, making the room seem larger than it was and the ceiling was white with glow in the dark stars stuck on it. Molly chuckled lightly, "how is it that even though you have stars on the ceiling you still knows nothing about the solar system?"

"I have never considered it important," came the terse reply.

"Oh, you…"

Molly stepped in to the room to take a closer look around and perched lightly on the edge of the bed patting the space next to her. Sherlock rolled his eyes, took off his jacket, threw it in the corner and sat next to her. They lay down on the bed, looking at the ceiling. It was somehow a very soothing activity. Sherlock brushed Molly's hand with his fingers as he thoughtfully looked at the stars that had guarded his sleep when he was still a young boy, looking for adventures. He had not thought about it before, but… Deep in his heart, he missed this room, just a little.

Molly carefully shifted so she was sitting upright with Sherlock's head in her lap and her back against the wall. She ran her hands lightly through his thick chocolate locks soothingly as he let out a sigh of contentment a hint of smugness flickering across his face. Looking down at him Molly was reminded greatly of a cat so much so that she was almost surprised when Sherlock did not start to purr.

They sat like that for almost an hour, Molly combing through Sherlock's hair, occasionally discussing the small, unimportant things that often come to mind when one has nothing to do but most the time they were content to sit in companionable silence and let time pass them by.

After a while, Molly felt Sherlock's breathing slow down. The man had fallen asleep and she was glad, because Sherlock had not slept for a while now and Molly was more than a bit concerned, although she knew his habits.

* * *

It had grown dark outside by the time Molly lifted Sherlock's head carefully, afraid of waking him despite the fact he was sleeping quite deeply. She slipped off the bed, leaving Sherlock curl up on the Paddington duvet and thinking how adorable he was.

She closed the door behind her, after leaving the room. One peek into Mycroft's room assured her that the cat was still there, curled up on the bed just like Sherlock.

Molly went downstairs and into the kitchen, where she tipped the tea that had gone cold down the sink. The sandwiches were half eaten and unfortunately full of cat hair. So she threw them away.

Sighing she made herself a new sandwich and cup of tea before sitting down at the slightly rickety table to eat what would probably count as dinner now. Finishing her tea she washed up and put everything back in the cupboards after a bit of hunting around for the right ones before heading in to the living room and switching on the TV to watch the news. When she turned the telly on it automatically started up on the BBC3 which was playing a repeat of Doctor Who from years ago. Smiling to herself as she remembered watching the show as a child, and now recognising the Galifreyan around the top of the Tardis console she decided to watch it instead of the news, wanting to bring a little bit of normal back into her life.

* * *

When Sherlock woke up, it was still night. He laboriously got up and grabbed his jacket off the floor. Quietly stepping downstairs, he could hear the TV playing quietly in the background. Molly's head was on the back of the sofa and when Sherlock walked in the room, he could immediately see the calm smile on her sleeping face.

He switched off the television and with great care he took her in his arms and lifted her from the sofa, to take her upstairs. Although Sherlock may seem a thin man, he was known in some places for his strength. He did not stumble once, when he carried the slumbering woman to the big bedroom and laid her on the bed. He also very carefully took off her clothes and slid her under the blanket.  
When he was done with that, he felt the fatigue return, so he undressed himself and went to bed beside Molly.

**Hope you enjoyed it. R&R**


	13. Chapter 13

**Well here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it. **

**On behalf of myself and AveP, my wonderful co-author we would both like to say a massive thank-you to anyone who has reviewed, favourited of followed this story so far. You are our motivation and inspiration to keep writing.**

**Warning for over sweetness and smut.**

The next morning a lazy sun gradually burnt away the morning mist that had settled over Looms Wood during the night and now clung to the trees in ragged tatters not yet ready to release their hold. The sun glided smoothly into the bedroom through a chink in the curtains and rested lightly on the sleeping forms of Molly and Sherlock tangled together in a mass of limbs and both wearing similarly contented expressions. Gradually the world outside awoke to welcome the dawn, with the morning orchestra of songbirds coming to life and ginger cat returning home after a night's hunt. However, it was not until a particular black cat stretched its limbs luxuriously and jumped off its position on the teak wardrobe in the master bedroom to put in its morning mealtime order with its new owners that the house at the centre of the woods came to life.

Sherlock was lying on his back with one arm placed protectively around Molly, who was curled up on her side against him when he was jolted from his dreams by the sudden presence of something heavy landing on his chest and batting at his face with its paws.

"Stupid cat…" he growled blearily through a haze of sleep and pushed the offending creature away with an easy stroke of his hand. With this sudden move both Sherlock and Molly had woken up. The cat, pleased of his success, jumped back on to the bed, ignoring Sherlock, and rubbed his body against Molly's legs. She smiled and scratched him behind his ears.

Sherlock sat up and stared at the cat, a little crinkle between his eyebrows.

"Mycroft," he suddenly said, "we should name him Mycroft."

Molly was surprised.

Sherlock continued: "He is just as annoying as Mycroft was."

Molly chuckled lightly, "yes he does seem like a Mycroft, he has the same ridiculously large sense of self import that your brother had, though I suppose most cats are like that. Likewise, Mycroft is nice and unique. You don't mind calling him that though, do you? I mean it's not going to remind you too much of Mycroft or anything?"

"My dear Molly if I wasn't happy with the name I wouldn't have suggested it, besides it makes me happy to picture Mycroft's reaction if he found out we named a cat after him," Sherlock tentatively stroked the behind the cat's ears, deciding if they were going to keep it for now he might as well try and get along with it.

"Your right, I bet Mycroft is turning in his grave as we speak," Molly giggled as she pictured how Mycroft would react if he had still been around to find out that they named their cat after him. Looking down at the cat, which had curled up between her and Sherlock, purring slightly as he stroked it, "so then Mycroft what do you think of your new name?"

Mycroft mewled in delight, but not because of the name, but because Sherlock had found an extra sensitive spot on his neck. Molly giggled as she watched the cat and the detective interact with each other.

"You know… You are very adorable right now," she said to the bigger feline.

Sherlock left the cat alone for a moment, at which he took offence, got up and move down the bed, getting closer to Molly.

"Do I now?" he asked playfully, kissing her neck.

Molly giggled again. "Yes. And not just because you were petting a cat…" She ruffled his already sleep-mussed hair.

Sherlock leant forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips but was interrupted by a very jealous Mycroft who squeezed between them and begun to head-butt Molly on the chin, pulling back slightly Sherlock chuckled, "looks like someone is hungry."

"Make that two of us," Molly said as her stomach rumbled loudly, startling the cat, who jumped off the bed and made its way out the door and downstairs to the kitchen. Sighing slightly at the prospect of having to get out of the warm confines of the bed Sherlock sat up and brushed a few loose strands of hair from Molly face before sliding out from under the covers.

Molly's eyebrows rose. Sherlock felt her intense stare on his back and turned curiously around, while grabbing his clothes off the floor. She blushed a deep red, still getting used to Sherlock's sleeping habits. He smirked and entered the bathroom.

Molly got out of the bed, as well. She walked over to where Sherlock had left her clothes and started putting them on as she heard him take a shower.

She bit her lip to hold down a smile. Morning Sherlock had made her day.

* * *

At breakfast the pair was relatively quiet, both wrapped up in their own thoughts with Molly occasionally crooning to Mycroft as she fed him bits of scrambled egg.

"We're going to need to get some cat food," she said mildly as they tidied up, her doing the dishes while Sherlock put all the food they had brought the previous day in various cupboards and the fridge.

Sherlock frowned. "That is going to be a problem. We shouldn't leave this place and there aren't any shops around."

Molly was worried and caressed Mycroft's back with long strides, after she had dried her hands. Sherlock looked out of the window, analysing the weather.

"We can't let him starve," she finally said.

Sherlock's eyes moved to look at them intrigued by her care for a cat she had only met the day before. "He won't starve. He's a stray cat and has been that for a long time, judging by the habits of him. His reflexes are incredibly fast and that indicates that he is use to hunting small animals, like mice. He can take care of himself."

"But still, I feel bad about not feeding him."

"Molly you fed him half your breakfast I think it is highly unlikely that he is going to starve, if anything he is going to get fat."

"I know," Molly sighed and twisted her lips, knowing that Sherlock was right but still feeling guilty about not having any proper cat food with which to feed Mycroft. Finally, she smiled giving the purring cat a final stroke prior to walking over to Sherlock from the sideboard and giving him a quick hug.

"So what are we going to do today?"

"Well, I thought you might like to go for a walk in the woods this morning as the weather is quite nice and we need to watch the news at some point to see how Lestrade is getting on with the case."

Molly smiled brightly at him, knowing that walking was not something he would do just for fun. He was being courteous towards her and she felt the warmth of her heart buzz in her chest. Oh god, she was so in love with him.

Sherlock returned her smile warmly and the unusual pair of genius and pathologist stood there in silence, arms around each other as they delighted in the mere fact of being alive and together. Sherlock admired the glow of Molly's hair as the early morning sun shined through it and the way it brought out all the glorious shades of the chestnut brown, while Molly was hypnotized by shadows and highlights on Sherlock's face, which shifted and merged into one another as he smiled tenderly down at her. The contrast of his dark hair and his pale skin… She would have had him right there and then, except for the fact she did not want to break this silent moment of companionship and tender love.

A light blush tinted her cheeks as she slipped her fingers through his and pulled him towards the door. When they entered the garden, the sun blinded her for a second. The weather was going to be wonderful today.

They strolled leisurely to the end on the back garden, keeping to a winding stone path, as the garden had grown wild during the years the house had remained uninhabited.

"You know if I get bored I could always try and tame this garden a little," Molly mused as they ducked through a wooden arch, which had some exquisite deep red roses climbing up it.

"Yes you would enjoy that," said Sherlock, "after all you always help your mother out in the garden when you go to visit."

"How did you, oh never mind, you always know," Molly smiled secretly to herself, happy that Sherlock had not only noticed this small titbit of information considered it worth filing away in his extensive mind palace where redundant data was deleted.

Sherlock grinned and reached up to plucked a single rose from the arc, handing it to Molly.

"Thank you," she said, standing up of tiptoes to kiss his cheek lightly.

* * *

At the end of the garden, they reached a small wrought iron gate set in the granite wall only to discover it had rusted shut. After trying, unsuccessfully, to pull it open for a minute Sherlock sighed heavily and jumped over before turning around to help Molly over but found her grinning cheekily up at him on his side of the gate instead.

"You never cease to surprise me, Molly," he stated with a smile. Being with her was a pleasure for him. He had noticed how great a change had overcome him over the last month and he liked it. Once he had thought that feelings were a weakness, but he could not have been more wrong. Molly was his and he was Molly's and together they could do anything, she was his humanity. They walked under the green trees, like in a romantic movie, birds singing around them. Molly was incredibly happy and Sherlock was delight to see her happy and to know that his old family home could bring that happiness to her. They forgot the outer world for a bit, ignoring the fact that they were not here for a fun trip but to hide away from people who wanted nothing better than to kill them.

Sherlock's black jacket started heating up, so he took it off and placed it over his arm. Molly bit her lip, when she saw that slim torso of his under that tightly fitted velvet black shirt. She licked her lips slightly, imagining tracing the contours of his body with her fingers, before shaking her head slightly to remove the thought. They were in the middle of a wood where anyone could come along and now was not the time to be thinking of how Sherlock would react as she dragged her fingernails lightly over his bare skin. Suddenly, returning to the house seemed a very appealing idea and a part of Molly wanted to turn around on the spot and sprint back, dragging Sherlock with her but the more level headed part reminded her that they could be here for a while so she should enjoy the walk while the weather lasted and save such tempting thoughts for later. Despite this reasoning, Molly could not help but subtly pick up her pace a little, a fact that was not lost on Sherlock.

"In a hurry?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with a small smile in the corner of his lips. He had noticed her expressions and the fierce blushing that covered her face now, only assured him what she was thinking.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said slowing the pace back to normal.

"How can I not mind you, Molly?"

She looked him in the eyes and saw his dilated pupils. Humans are fascinating, he thought to himself. His own body had responded naturally back to Molly's reaction.

Molly slowed to a stop and no longer able to resist Sherlock's flushed lips she tentatively wrapped her arms around him, standing on tiptoes to connect her lips with him in a soft, slow but electrifyingly passionate kiss. Sherlock bent his head forward and deepened the kiss almost immediately, wanting to taste that unique taste which was everything Molly. After what could have been a lifetime or a few seconds they pulled apart, breathing heavily.

"I think we have done enough walking for the day shall we head back?" Sherlock murmured huskily into Molly's ear.

"That seems a very good idea," came the breathless reply.

* * *

The two of them barely made it to the house. Sherlock's hands had already unbuttoned Molly's cardigan, when they entered the bedroom, her legs wrapped around his waist, not breaking their kiss even for one second. Sherlock lifted her on the bed, steadying himself on top, and started planting small kisses on her neck and shoulders, pushing off the cardigan.

He pulled himself off for one moment, to look into her eyes. They were dark with desire. Molly let Sherlock take her shirt, while she opened his. Button by button, caressing every piece of his white skin that was deliciously revealed. Sherlock let out a small moan when she opened the last button and slid her fingers over the sensitive skin under his waistband. He was hard on her.

She fumbled with his belt in her urgency to get it undone, shoving his trousers and boxers down to release his hard length while he slipped her skirt up around her waist, to impatient to take it all the way off as he kicked his trousers off. Then he bent forward again and devoured her mouth with a desperately hungry need, pulling back to place small kisses along Molly's jaw and down her neck before sucking greedily at her pulse point making sure to leave a bruise that would mark her as his.

Gasping as Sherlock caressed every sensitive point on her body, causing her to writhe under his ministrations, Molly ran one hand through Sherlock's hair, her grip tightening as he found a particularly sensitive spot while the other hand reach down between them and stroked Sherlock quickly, causing his hips to buck forward between her legs involuntarily.

He held himself back for a moment more, to slide off her knickers. She grabbed the sheets and moaned in delight, when his long index finger entered her heat, his thumb playing with the bundle of nerves placed there.

"Oh god yes, Sherlock!" she burst out, when she felt his length inside her. He pulled out to fill her again with long and deep strokes. The bed shook with every hard thrust. Molly's nails sunk into his back and he groaned in pleasure.

She begged him to go faster. He obeyed, breathing faster and faster, mouth unable to form sensible words. Hips in synch, Sherlock's one hand under her back, the other one caressing the inner side of her thigh, right where their bodies united.

Feeling the now familiar coil tighten inside him, Sherlock pick up his pace, driving forward into Molly while her name became a personal mantra, rolling of his tongue like melted chocolate, his voice low and husky with desire. Molly's tight, heat-soaked walls clenched around him as she reached her climax, screaming out his name in ecstasy, and causing Sherlock to hit a high like he had never found on any drug.

Supporting himself on his forearms Sherlock let forward to place light butterfly kisses on Molly's lips.

"Love you, Molly," he whispered, gently pulling out of her and cradling him into his chest, content just to look at her beautifully sated face.

"Love you too, Sherlock," came the mumbled reply as they drifted on a post-coital haze.

* * *

When Molly woke up from her nap, Sherlock was gone and so was the sheet from the bed. She grabbed his shirt that was lying on the floor, and put it on. The shirt smelled like him. She smiled and breathed in that spicy, yet sweet, scent by burying her nose in the collar.

Molly found Sherlock in the living room, watching TV, wrapped up in the bed sheet. She sneaked up to him and hugged him from behind, biting his ear gently. Sherlock turned his head slightly towards Molly and caught her lips in his.

"I can't even describe how sexy you look right now," he said with a calm voice, after ending the deep kiss.

Molly hummed in smug agreement, "you look downright edible too," she whispered as she sat, curled up on Sherlock's lap, "What you watching?"

"You."

"And before I came into the room?"

"Oh, just the news. I wanted to know how Lestrade was coming along with the case but the BBC hasn't mentioned it yet."

"How long have you been watching it?"

"About five minutes but it has been on for ten, so there is a chance I missed the article. Tea?" Sherlock gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen.

"I'll go make some," she said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Sherlock slid his eyes back on the screen.

Suddenly he leaned closer, grabbing the remote control and turning up the volume.

"…around eight o'clock this morning a detective inspector from Scotland Yard was assaulted on his way to work. DI Gregory Lestrade is currently staying in the St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where his critical situation is being observed…"

Sherlock could hear a glass shatter in the kitchen. Molly had dropped a teacup.

**Wolf: Hmm. So much for a relaxing break in the country. **

**R&R**


	14. Chapter 14

**Well here's the next update for all my wonderfully attentive readers. :D **

Molly came dashing in to the room just as a picture of Lestrade's face covered in cut and bruises with his short grey hair, mattered and plastered to his face by blood faded from the screen.

"The detective was working on a case which cannot be disclosed to the public in order to help protect the identities of all those involved when he was attacked not far from Scotland Yard early this morning. It is as yet unknown who the attackers of the DI are and police are asking anyone who has further information on the attack to come forward," the news caster moved on to talk about a new Superdrug which had recently hit the market and left Molly and Sherlock sitting in shocked silence before Sherlock switched off the TV and turned to Molly.

"We need to go back to London."

She nodded and dashed upstairs to get their clothes, while Sherlock switched his phone back on and began looking online for more information about what was going on in London.

When Molly returned, fully dressed and packed, with his clothes he threw the phone aside for a second and pulled them on. He grabbed his stuff and stopped in front of Molly, hugging her as tight as possible, trying to calm her slight tremble.

"I'm fine, Sherlock. I'm fine," she assured him with a shaky voice, but he knew she was not.

"So much for letting The Shio forget about us".

He took her hand in his and they left the house behind.

* * *

This time on their way back to London they did not try to be discreet, taking the M20 directly into the heart of London and then catching a taxi to St Barts after dropping the car back with Daniel. Molly led the way as they speed walked through the hospital towards the intensive care unit, as Sherlock was not familiar with this wing of the hospital, only ever making trips to the Morgue to borrow body parts.

While Molly checked in on how Lestrade was doing Sherlock phoned several of his associates, both with the police and with the homeless network, to see how the case was coming along in the short amount of time he and Molly had been away as well as arranging to meet Donovan where Lestrade had been attacked. If truth be told he was alarmed by the speed with which The Shio had taken out not only the leading head of the investigation against them but also his friend. It meant they had most likely been watching him from the start and merely biding their time to strike, in all honestly he should have seen it coming after he and Molly had been attacked in Portobello Road and warned Lestrade to be on his guard.

* * *

Lestrade was still unconscious, lying on the hospital bed, IV attached to his arm and machines observing his weak heartbeat. Somebody had brought him flowers, they were on the table next to the bed.  
Molly carefully stepped into the room and stopped just short of his bed. He looked so fragile and breakable like this, so different to her close friend's normal appearance. A single pearly drop of moisture rolled down Molly's cheek.

As Sherlock joined her in the room, gazing down at Lestrade, he entwined their fingers together in a small show of comfort. So they stood in companionable silence for about five minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand and said, "we should go. There is nothing more here that we can do."

She noticed a peculiar sound to his voice and when she looked him in the eyes they were full of pain. Never again would she let anybody say that Sherlock Holmes was heartless. Lestrade had been and still was a friend to him. He was one of the few people for whom Sherlock had jumped from the roof of the same building they were in now.

* * *

Lestrade had been attack in an alleyway next to The Strutton Arms which sold Costa Coffee and Donuts which were to die for. It also had the advantage of being only a short walk from Scotland Yard, so he could head there, or preferably send someone, to get him his standard order of one donut with chocolate icing and a large cappuccino to take away without having to worry about missing anything important. There had been a gate across the alley several years ago but it had been taken down for some unknown reason and was now the perfect location for various untoward business transactions, drunks and smokers.

Lestrade had been found by the owner of The Strutton Arms as she threw out the previous night's rubbish. Recognising the police officers who she had just served she had quickly phoned for an ambulance and performed some basic first aid, without which Lestrade would not have survived. Beyond than that no one seemed to know anything about the attack or was too scared to say.

Sherlock took Molly to the crime scene, which was surrounded by the familiar blue and white police tape while the crime scene investigators were collecting the evidence.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, but did not get angry. The incident took place in the morning and it was already late afternoon, so it was only logical that the police had moved on with the case.

"Oh look who it is!" said an annoyingly grating voice, "It's the freak and his puppet!"

"Shut up, Donovan! Nobody wants to hear your pointless muttering. Some people have got work to do," Sherlock said while he lifted the tape to let himself and Molly pass. Donovan frowned and crossed her arms on her chest, but did not say anything.

Sherlock breezed straight into the crime scene while Molly paused to change into protective gear so as not to destroy any evidence before following Sherlock. Donovan watch on while absently twisting the engagement ring on her ring finger, Sherlock had not appeared at any crime scenes recently, working on some case of his own, and she had begun to hope that he had stopped interfering with police business altogether. Of course, the brutal attacking and almost murder of a DI would be too tempting for his macabre sense of fun so she was not sure why she felt so surprised to see him there.

* * *

Sherlock looked around on what was still left behind. Blood patterns on the asphalt were the first things he noticed. He went round and round, circling the place.

"The attackers approached from the alley way," he acted out the movements. "Lestrade came from the shop," he reached out his arm to point in the right direction. "There he was grabbed from behind, notice the coffee," he waved towards the street corner, where Molly had indeed noticed spilled coffee, "there was a struggle, most likely two - no - three against one. The attackers fled in there."

"Doesn't give us much, does it?" Molly stated.

"Hush! I'm not done yet."

"Notice the finer blood splatter here, it is the same age as rest so it is from the attack but the way it is more of a mist suggests a gunshot wound. So at least one of the attackers was armed with a silenced gun, as no one heard the shot, but Lestrade managed to grab the gun, it couldn't have been his, he doesn't carry a gun, and shoot one of them. However, they didn't shoot him to kill him, no one carries a gun with only one bullet in it so why didn't they shoot him after they got the gun back? They had plenty of time and pulling a trigger takes less than a second. That means the gun must be identifiable and they only brought it along for insurance purposes but didn't use it because the bullets could be traced back to them. It's a gun with a history, easy to trace back to the owner, The Shio's personal killers would not be traceable so the attackers were hired thugs, if they were attacking for personal reasons they wouldn't have attack in such a public space and would have left a note of some sort. Not a random attack, his wallet et cetra wasn't stolen so definitely case related but not directly The Shio. Therefore Lestrade was getting too close to someone for comfort and they got itchy feet and sent someone to finish him off or at least take him off the case for a bit. The question is, who?"

Molly pouted. "Well that's just great. Another mystery to solve. Just what we needed."

"There's most likely a connection between them and The Shio."

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

Sherlock smirked at her. "I don't believe in coincidences," he answered, giving a final glance to the crime scene. "I think I have everything I need for now. Let's go!"

He took out his phone and stared at intensely, searching for something, while Molly took off the protective gear.

"Leads?"

"Simple science. Dirty footprints. Mud, asphalt, red brick. They're making it too easy. I don't even need to use the lab to trace their secret meeting place. Well I say secret."

"Ok, Show off where is it?"

"Battersea Power Plant, Cringle Street, it is a disused power plant that fits the criteria as well as being located close to the centre of London. I seem to remember some talk about turning it in to a recycling plant at some point but it never worked out. Nowadays it is a hotbed of criminal activity, I never understood why the place wasn't knocked down years ago, anyway my point is that the first place a person would go if they needed something done but weren't in the underworld edition of Who's Who is Cringle Street. The drugs are less drug more ground up brick and any work you pay for will probably be a half-assed slap job but it is dirt cheap and over the years it has produced its fair share of spiders. Our particular thugs didn't do a very good job, are traceable and their footprints shout out disused factory, hence Battersea."

They both stepped to the other side of the police tape, where Donovan was standing.

"Battersea Power Plant," Sherlock said to her.

"Are you sure, freak?"

Molly lifted her eyebrow.

"Are you going to ask me stupid questions all day or are you going to be a nice girl, act like a grown up police officer and do what it takes to get some action around here?"

The woman turned around. "Whatever," she said, lifting her hands above her head.

"If you go any slower than that, we'll all be here until winter. Move!" Sherlock shouted to her back.

Donovan huffed and if possible slowed her pace even more, just to prove a point. If Sherlock had not been used to this reaction from Donovan by now, he would have murdered her. As it was he clenched his hands in his pocket and swept past her, barely resisting the urge to strangle the infuriating woman, as he muttered, "forget it we'll make our own way there, you can join us when you decide to start being useful."

When they reached the road Sherlock hailed a cab and the pair climbed into the back, Molly stretching her legs out as much as possible and moaning slightly as the muscles cramped.

"Stiff legs?" Sherlock asked.

"Stiff all of me, seriously I swear that car has no leg room."

"Are you ok?" Sherlock was concerned.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! Just need to stretch myself a little," she answered, waving him off. He nodded and gave the cabbie the address.

The man looked surprised. "Are you sure that's the place you want to go, sir?"

"Why does everyone need me to tell that YES, I AM SURE!"

"Sorry, sir. Won't happen again," the cabbie apologized and drove off, still giving them worried looks in his rear view mirror.

"Just don't seem like the type, is all," Sherlock thought he heard the cabbie mutter to himself before retreating into his mind palace to consolidate the information that they already knew. Lestrade had been tracking down members of The Shio and their associates, however, someone had hired three lumps of inexperienced, useless meat to finish him off before Lestrade caught them. Clearly the person doing the hiring did not know what he was doing otherwise they would have chosen a more skilled assassin so was probably just a buyer who had got itchy feet as Lestrade's net closed around them or some The Shio low life without any real contacts who did not want to go to prison.

Molly's thoughts ran in a different direction. Lestrade had been taken care of and she was sure that they would soon follow, now that they were back in London. She and Sherlock should be keeping a low profile, but here they were. Barging in to a building that was home to many of London's criminals could not exactly be called low profile.

"So what's your plan?" Molly asked Sherlock, interrupting his trail of thoughts. He frowned, but answered.

"Donovan should get a police squad together, although it may take some time for her. In the mean time we will check around the perimeters of the area and see, if we can find something useful."

* * *

They arrived at the abandoned power plant shortly after their exchange in a tense silence, both unsure of the events which were about to play out. From the outside it did look truly abandoned, as the light began to fade out of the day, sucking the colour from their surroundings gradually, although Molly reckoned the dull red bricks, stained by years of soot and pollution, could never look colour full even on the brightest of summer days in its bleak environment. The ground was littered with broken glass, needles and cigarette butts, as they picked their way across the deserted car park, Molly trying to ignore the tightening knot in her stomach.

Sherlock held Molly's hand. A habit, which they both enjoyed having. The warmth of their palms encouraging and comforting each other. At least Sherlock understood that being together was safest and did not send her away, thought Molly. She did not want to remember the last time they were apart. Nothing good came out of it.

As they stepped, carefully so as not to accidentally injure themselves with the junk lying around, Sherlock warned Molly: "Be attentive. We do not want to attract attention before Donovan arrives. There are a lot of thugs around here. We'll simply look over the area."

They slowly circled the building from a distance, keeping to the lengthening shadows so they were harder to spot and watch as people hunched over and casting furtive glances over their shoulders dashed across the open space to slip silently through the door and into the gloom beyond.

After half an hour a swarm of police cars pulled up outside the building and several dark figures jogged up to the door before pushing it open and leaving Sherlock and Molly's line of sight to the call of "police, put your hands in the air and nobody move."

**As always, Ave P and I are very grateful to anyone who has reviewed, favourited or followed us and I'm sorry if I haven't managed to thank you for the reviews you've left us as my email crashed and I didn't get a load of alerts, updates and general emails so might not have managed to thank you properly.**


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